UC-NRLF 


B    M    1D3    E37 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AS  A 

READER.    By  CHARLES  KENT.    Illustrated 
with  Fac-similes.     izmo.    Extra  cloth.    $1.50. 

"As  vividly,  perhaps,  as  it  is  possible  to  do  so 
through  the  medium  of  pen  and  ink,  Mr.  Kent 
has  brought  before  us  the  great  lamented  novelist 
in  his  popular  aspect  as  a  public  reader." — London 
School  Board  Chronicle. 

"It  is  an  intelligent,  discriminating,  and  at 
tractive  representation  of  the  great  humorist  in 
his  character  as  actor  and  reader." — Boston  Globe. 

"  The  book  is  pleasantly  and  simply  written, 
and  will  be  received  with  pleasure  by  all  admirers 
of  perhaps  the  most  finished  elocutionist  of  his 
day." — American  Athenseum. 


CHARLES    DICKENS 


AS  A  KEADEB. 


o '»          "  '  '  *     I*   ,       '  "•> 


BY 


CHAELES  KENT. 


PHILADELPHIA : 

J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT   &  CO. 

LONDON  :  CHAPMAN  &  HALL,  193,  PICCADILLY. 

1872. 


BRADBURY,  EVANS,   AND  CO.,   PRINTERS,   WHITEFRIARS, 


PR  456 

Kef. 
'872. 


TO 


JOHN    FORSTER, 

THE   BIOGRAPHER   OF    CHARLES  DICKENS, 


®fcm   faps   m 


M126C70 


PREFACE. 

As  the  title-page  of  this  volume  indicates,  no 
more  is  here  attempted  than  a  memorial  of  CHARLES 
DICKENS  in  association  with  his  Readings.  It 
appeared  desirable  that  something  in  the  shape 
of  an  accurate  record  should  be  made  of  an 
episode  in  many  respects  so  remarkable  in  the 
career  of  the  most  popular  author  of  his  genera 
tion.  A  commemorative  volume,  precisely  of 
this  character,  was  projected  by  the  writer  in  the 
spring  of  1870.  Immediately  after  the  Farewell 
Eeading  in  St.  James's  Hall,  on  the  15th  of  March, 
CHARLES  DICKENS  wrote,  in  hearty  approval  of  the 
suggestion,  "  Everything  that  I  can  let  you  have 
in  aid  of  the  proposed  record  (which,  of  course, 
would  be  far  more  agreeable  to  me  if  done  by 
you  than  by  any  other  hand)  shall  be  at  your 


VI  PREFACE. 

service."  All  the  statistics,  he  added,  should  be 
placed  freely  at  the  writer's  command  ;  all  the 
marked  books  from  which  he  himself  read  should 
be  confided  to  him  for  reference.  In  now  realis 
ing  his  long-postponed  intention,  the  writer's 
endeavour  has  been  throughout  to  restrict  the 
purpose  of  his  book  as  much  as  possible  to 
matters  either  directly  or  indirectly  affecting 
these  famous  Headings. 

The  Biography  of  CHARLES  DICKENS  having 
been  undertaken  by  the  oldest  and  dearest  of 
his  friends,  all  that  is  here  attempted  is  to 
portray,  as  accurately  as  may  be,  a  single 
phase  in  the  career  and  character  of  one  of  the 
greatest  of  all  our  English  Humorists.  What  is 
thus  set  forth  has  the  advantage,  at  any  rate,  of 
being  penned  from  the  writer's  own  intimate 
knowledge.  With  the  Novelist's  career  as  a 
Keader  he  has  been  familiar  throughout.  From 
its  beginning  to  its  close  he  has  regarded  it  ob 
servantly.  He  has  viewed  it  both  from  before 


PREFACE.  Vli 

and  from  behind  the  scenes,  from  the  front  of  the 
house  as  well  as  from  within  the  shelter  of  the 
screen  upon  the  platform.  When  contrasted 
with  the  writings  of  the  Master-Humorist,  these 
readings  of  his,  though  so  remarkable  in  them 
selves,  shrink,  no  doubt,  to  comparative  insignifi 
cance.  But  simply  considering  them  as  supple 
mentary,  and,  certainly,  as  very  exceptional, 
evidences  of  genius  on  the  part  of  a  great 
author,  they  may  surely  be  regarded  as  having 
been  worthy  of  the  keenest  scrutiny  at  the  time, 
and  entitled  afterwards  to  some  honest  com 
memoration. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CIIAELES  DICKENS  AS  A  READER 1 

THE  READINGS  IN  ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA         .       .    .      36 
THE  CHRISTMAS  CAROL       .        .        .        .        .        .        .92 

THE  TRIAL  FROM  PICKWICK  .       ,       .       .       .       .    .    109 

DAVID  COPPERFIELD  .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .120 

THE  CRICKET  ON  THE  HEARTH    .       ,       .       .       .    .    131 

NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY  .  _    .       .       .       .       .       .       .    140 

MR.  BOB  SAWYER'S  PARTY    .        .        ,        .        .        ,    .    152 
THE  CHIMES      .........    162 

THE  STORY  OF  LITTLE  DOMBEY    .        .        .        .        .     .     176 

MR.  CHOPS,  THE  DWARF 189 

THE  POOR  TRAVELLER  ,       ,       .       .       .       .       .    .    195 

MRS.    GAMP 207 

BOOTS  AT  THE  HOLLY  TREE  INN   .           .           .           .           .      .  220 

BARBOX   BROTHERS       .  .  .  .  ,  .  .  .231 

THE  BOY  AT  MTJGBY        ........  237 

DOCTOR  MARIGOLD '       .  243 

SIKES  AND  NANCY            ........  253 

THE   FAREWELL  READING  .  263 


CHARLES    DICKENS 


AS 


A   KEADEE. 


A  CELEBRATED  writer  is  hardly  ever  capable  as  a 
Reader  of  doing  justice  to  his  own  imaginings.  Dr. 
Johnson's  whimsical  anecdote  of  the  author  of  The 
Seasons  admits,  in  point  of  fact,  of  a  very  general  appli 
cation.  According  to  the  grimly  humorous  old  Doctor, 
"  He  [Thomson]  was  once  reading  to  Doddington,  who, 
being  himself  a  reader  eminently  elegant,  was  so  much 
provoked  by  his  odd  utterance,  that  he  snatched  the, 
paper  from  his  hand,  and  told  him  that  he  did 
not  understand  his  own  verses  ! "  Dryden,  again, 
when  reading  his  Amphytrion  in  the  green-room, 
"though,"  says  Gibber,  who  was  present  upon  the 
occasion,  "  he  delivered  the  plain  meaning  of  every 
period,  yet  the  whole  was  in  so  cold,  so  flat,  and 
unaffecting  a  manner,  that  I  am  afraid  of  not  being 
believed  when  I  affirm  it."  Elsewhere,  in  his 
Apology,  when  contrasting  the  creator  with  the 


CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 


interpreter,  the  original  delineator  with  the  actual 
impersonator  of  character,  the  same  old  stage  gossip 
remarks,  how  men  would  read  Shakspere  with  higher 
rapture  could  they  hut  conceive  how  he  was  played  hy 
Betterton  !  "  Then  might  they  know,"  he  exclaims, 
with  a  delightful  extravagance  of  emphasis  and  quaint- 
ness  of  phraseology,  "the  one  was  born  alone  to  speak 
what  the  other  only  knew  to  write !  "  The  simple 
truth  of  the  matter  being  that  for  the  making  of  a 
consummate  actor,  reader,  or  impersonator,  not  only 
is  there  required,  to  begin  with,  a  certain  histrionic 
instinct  or  dramatic  aptitude,  but  a  combination — very 
rarely  to  be  met  with,  indeed — of  personal  gifts,  of 
physical  peculiarities,  of  vocal  and  facial,  nay,  of  subtly 
and  yet  instantly  appreciable  characteristics.  Referring 
merely  to  those  who  are  skilled  as  conversationalists, 
Sir  Richard  Steele  remarks,  very  justly,  in  the 
Spectator  (No.  521),  that,  "  In  relations,  the  force  of 
the  expression  lies  very  often  more  in  the  look,  the 
tone  of  voice,  or  the  gesture,  than  in  the  words  them 
selves,  which,  being  repeated  in  any  other  manner  by 
the  undiscerning,  bear  a  very  different  interpretation 
from  their  original  meaning."  Whatever  is  said  as 
to  all  that  is  requisite  in  the  delivery  of  an  oration  by 
the  master  of  all  oratory,  applies  with  equal  distinct 
ness  to  those  who  are  readers  or  actors  professionally. 
All  depends  on  the  countenance,  is  the  dictum  of 
Cicero,*  and  even  in  that,  he  says,  the  eyes  bear  sove- 

*•  De  Oratore  iii.,  59. 


CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER.  3 

reign  sway.  Elsewhere,  in  his  great  treatise,  referring 
to  what  was  all-essential  in  oratorical  delivery,  accord 
ing  to  Demosthenes,  Tully,  by  a  bold  and  luminous 
phrase,  declares  Action  to  be,  as  it  were,  the  speech 
of  the  body, — "  quasi  sermo  corporis."  Voice,  eyes, 
bearing,  gesture,  countenance,  each  in  turn,  all  of  them 
together,  are  to  the  spoken  words,  or,  rather  than 
that,  it  should  be  said,  to  the  thoughts  and  emotions 
of  which  those  articulate  sounds  are  but  the  winged 
symbols,  as  to  the  barbed  and  feathered  arrows  are 
the  bowstring.  How  essential  every  external  of  this 
kind  is,  as  affording  some  medium  of  communication 
between  a  speaker  and  his  auditors,  may  be  illustrated 
upon  the  instant  by  the  rough  and  ready  argument  of 
the  reductio  ad  absurdwm.  Without  insisting,  for  ex 
ample,  upon  the  impossibility  of  having  a  speech 
delivered  by  one  who  is  actually  blind,  and  deaf,  and 
dumb,  we  need  only  imagine  here  its  utterance,  by  some 
wall-eyed  stammerer,  who  has  a  visage  about  as  wooden 
and  inexpressive  as  the  figure-head  of  a  merchantman. 
Occasionally,  it  is  true,  physical  defects  have  been 
actually  conquered,  individual  peculiarities  have  been 
in  a  great  measure  counteracted,  by  rhetorical  artifice, 
or  by  the  arts  of  oratorical  delivery  :  instance  the  lisp 
of  Demosthenes,  the  stutter  of  Fox,  the  brogue  of 
Burke,  and  the  burr  of  Brougham. 

Sometimes,  but  very  rarely,  it  has  so  happened  that 
an  actor  of  nearly  peerless  excellence,  that  a  reader  of 
all  but  matchless  power,  has  achieved  his  triumphs, 

B  2 


CHARLES   DICKENS    AS   A    READER. 

has  acquired  his  reputation,  in  very  despite  of  almost 
every  conceivable  personal  disadvantage.  Than  the 
renowned  actor  already  mentioned,  for  example, 
Thomas  Betterton,  a  more  radiant  name  has  hardly 
ever  been  inscribed  upon  the  roll  of  English  players, 
from  Burbage  to  Garrick.  Yet  what  is  the  picture 
of  this  incomparable  tragedian,  drawn  by  one  who 
knew  him  and  who  has  described  his  person  for  us 
minutely,  meaning  Antony  Aston,  in  his  theatrical 
pamphlet,  called  the  Brief  Supplement  ?  Why  it  is 
absolutely  this, — "Mr.  Betterton,"  says  his  truthful 
panegyrist,  "although  a  superlative  good  actor,  laboured 
under  an  ill  figure,  being  clumsily  made,  having  a  great 
head,  a  short,  thick  neck,  stooped  in  the  shoulders, 
and  had  fat,  short  arms,  which  he  rarely  lifted  higher 
than  his  stomach.  He  had  little  eyes  and  a  broad 
face,  a  little  pock-fretten,  a  corpulent  body,  and 
thick  legs,  with  large  feet.  His  voice  was  low  and 
grumbling.  He  was  incapable  of  dancing,  even  in  a 
country  dance."  And  so  forth  !  Yet  this  was  the 
consummate  actor  who  was  regarded  by  the  more  dis 
cerning  among  his  contemporaries,  but  most  of  all  by 
the  brother  actors  who  were  immediately  around  him, 
as  simply  inimitable  and  unapproachable. 

There  was  John  Henderson,  again,  great  in  his  time, 
both  as  a  tragic  and  a  comic  actor,  greatest  of  all  as  a 
reader  or  an  impersonator.  Hear  him  described  by 
one  who  has  most  carefully  and  laboriously  written  his 
encomium,  that  is  to  say,  by  John  Ireland,  his  bio- 


CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    READER.  5 

grapher.  What  do  we  read  of  him  ?  That  in  height 
he  was  below  the  common  standard,  that  his  frame  was 
uncompacted,  that  his  limbs  were  short  and  ill-propor 
tioned,  that  his  countenance  had  little  of  that  flexibility 
which  anticipates  the  tongue,  that  his  eye  had  scarcely 
anything  of  that  language  which,  by  preparing  the 
spectator  for  the  coming  sentence,  enchains  the  atten 
tion,  that  his  voice  was  neither  silvery  nor  mellifluous. 
Nevertheless,  by  a  subtlety  of  discrimination,  that 
seemed  almost  intuitive,  by  a  force  of  judgment  and  a 
fervency  of  mind,  that  were  simply  exquisite  and 
irresistible,  this  was  the  very  man  who  could  at  any 
moment,  by  an  inflection  of  his  voice  or  by  the  syncope 
of  a  chuckle,  move  his  audience  at  pleasure  to  tears  or 
to  laughter.  He  could  haunt  their  memories  for  years 
afterwards  with  the  infinite  tenderness  of  his  ejacula 
tion  as  Hamlet,  of  "  The  fair  Ophelia  !  "  He  could 
convulse  them  with  merriment  by  his  hesitating  utter 
ance  as  Falstaif  of  "  A  shirt — and  a  half !  "  Incident 
ally  it  is  remarked  by  the  biographer  of  Henderson 
that  the  qualifications  requisite  to  constitute  a  reader 
of  especial  excellence  seem  to  be  these,  "  a  good  ear, 
a  voice  capable  of  inflexion,  an  understanding  of,  and 
taste  for,  the  beauties  of  the  author."  Added  to  this, 
there  must  be,  of  course,  a  feeling,  an  ardour,  an  en 
thusiasm  sufficient  at  all  times  to  ensure  their  rapid 
and  vivid  manifestation.  Eichly  endowed  in  this  way, 
however,  though  Henderson  was,  his  gifts  were 
weighted,  as  we  have  seen  were  those  also  of  Betterton, 


6  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

by  a  variety  of  physical  defects,  some  of  which  were 
almost  painfully  conspicuous.  Insomuch  was  this  the 
case,  in  the  latter  instance,  that  Tony  Aston  has 
oddly  observed,  in  regard  to  the  all  but  peerless 
tragedian,  "  He  was  better  to  meet  than  to  follow ; 
for  his  aspect  [the  writer  evidently  means,  here, 
when  met]  was  serious,  venerable,  and  majestic  ;  in 
his  latter  time  a  little  paralytic."  Accepting  at  once 
as  reasonable  and  as  accurate  what  has  thus  been 
asserted  by  those  who  have  made  the  art  of  elocution 
their  especial  and  chosen  study  for  analysis,  it  is  surely 
impossible  not  to  recognise  at  a  glance  how  enormously 
a  reader  must,  by  necessity,  be  advantaged,  who,  in 
addition  to  the  intellectual  and  emotional  gifts  already 
enumerated,  possesses  those  personal  attributes  and 
physical  endowments  in  which  a  reader,  otherwise  of 
surpassing  excellence,  like  Henderson,  and  an  actor, 
in  other  respects  of  incomparable  ability,  like  Betterton, 
was  each  in  turn  so  glaringly  deficient. 

Whatever  is  here  said  in  regard  to  Charles  Dickens, 
it  should  be  borne  in  mind,  is  written  and  published 
during  the  lifetime  of  his  own  immediate  contempo 
raries.  He  himself,  his  readings,  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  the  ring  of  his  footstep,  the  glance  of  his  eye, 
are  all  still  vividly  within  the  recollection  of  the 
majority  of  those  who  will  examine  the  pages  of  this 
memorial.  Everything,  consequently,  which  is  set 
forth  in  them  is  penned  with  a  knowledge  of  its  in 
evitable  revision  or  endorsement  by  the  reader's  own 


CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER.  7 

personal  remembrance.  It  is  in  the  full  glare  of  that 
public  remembrance  that  the  present  writer  refers  to 
the  great  novelist  as  an  impersonator  of  his  more 
remarkable  creations.  Everybody  who  has  seen  him, 
who  has  heard  him,  who  has  carefully  watched  him, 
though  it  may  be  but  at  a  single  one  of  these  memo 
rable  readings,  will  recognise  at  a  glance  the  accuracy 
or  the  inaccuracy  of  the  delineation. 

It  is  observable,  in  the  first  instance,  in  regard  to 
Charles  Dickens,  that  he  had  in  an  extraordinary 
degree  the  dramatic  element  in  his  character.  It  was 
an  integral  part  of  his  individuality.  It  coloured  his 
whole  temperament  or  idiosyncracy.  Unconsciously 
he  described  himself,  to  a  T,  in  Nicholas  Nickleby. 
'"  There's  genteel  comedy  in  your  walk  and  manner, 
juvenile  tragedy  in  your  eye,  and  touch-and-go  farce 
in  your  laugh,"  might  have  been  applied  to  himself  in 
his  buoyant  youth  quite  as  readily  and  directly  as  to 
Nicholas.  The  author,  rather  than  the  hero  of  Nickleby, 
seems,  in  that  happy  utterance  of  the  theatrical  mana 
ger,  to  have  been  photographed.  It  cannot  but  now  be 
apparent  that,  as  an  unpremeditated  preliminary  to 
Dickens' s  then  undreamt-of  career  as  a  reader  of  his 
own  works  in  public  and  professionally,  the  Private 
Theatricals  over  which  he  presided  during  several  years 
in  his  own  home  circle  as  manager,  prepared  the  way 
no  less  directly  than  his  occasional  Headings,  later  on, 
at  some  expense  to  himself  (in  travelling  and  other 
wise)  for  purely  charitable  purposes.  His  proclivity 


8  CHAKLES    DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

stagewards,  in  effect,  the  natural  trending  of  liis  line 
of  life,  so  to  speak,  in  the  histrionic  or  theatrical  direc 
tion,  was,  in  another  way.  indicated  at  a  yet  earlier 
date,  and  not  one  jot  less  pointedly.  It  was  so,  we 
mean,  at  the  very  opening  of  his  career  in  authorship, 
when  having  just  sprung  into  precocious  celehrity 
as  the  writer  of  the  Sketches  and  of  the  earlier 
numbers  of  Pickwick,  he  contributed  an  opera  and  a 
couple  of  farces  with  brilliant  success  to  the  boards 
of  the  St.  James's  Theatre.  Braham  and  Parry  and 
Hullah  winged  with  melody  the  words  of  "  The  Village 
Coquettes ;  "  while  the  quaint  humour  of  Harley  ex 
cited  roars  of  laughter  through  the  whimsicalities  of 
"Is  She  His  Wife?"  and  "The  Strange  Gentle 
man."  Trifles  light  as  air  though  these  effusions 
might  be,  the  radiant  bubbles  showed  even  then,  as  by 
a  casual  freak  which  way  with  him  the  breeze  in  his 
leisure  hours  was  drifting.  A  dozen  years  or  more 
after  this  came  the  private  theatricals  at  Tavistock 
House.  Beginning  simply,  first  of  all,  with  his  direc 
tion  of  his  children's  frolics  in  the  enacting  of  a 
burletta,  of  a  Cracker  Bonbon  for  Christmas,  and  of 
one  of  Planche's  charming  fairy  extravaganzas,  these 
led  up  in  the  end  through  what  must  be  called  circuit- 
ously  Dickens's  emendations  of  O'Hara's  version  of 
Fielding's  burlesque  of  "  Tom  Thumb/'  to  the  mani 
festation  of  the  novelist's  remarkable  genius  for 
dramatic  impersonation  :  first  of  all,  as  Aaron  Gurnock 
in  Wilkie  Collins' s  "  Lighthouse,"  and  afterwards  as 


CHARLES    DICKENS    AS   A    HEADER. 

Bichard  Wardour  in  the  same  author's  "  Frozen  Deep." 
Already  he  had  achieved  success,  some  years  earlier, 
as  an  amateur  performer  in  characters  not  essentially 
his  own,  as,  for  example,  in  the  representation  of  the 
senile  blandness  of  Justice  Shallow,  or  of  the  gasconad 
ing  humours  of  Captain  Bobadil.  Just,  as  afterwards, 
in  furtherance  of  the  interests  of  the  Guild  of  Litera 
ture  and  Art,  he  impersonated  Lord  Wilmot  in  Lytton's 
comedy  of  "  Not  so  Bad  as  we  Seem,"  and  represented 
in  a  series  of  wonderfully  rapid  transformations  the 
protean  person  of  Mr.  Gabblewig,  through  the  medium 
of  a  delightful  farce  called  "  Mr.  Nightingale's  Diary." 
Whoever  witnessed  Dickens's  impersonation  of  Mr. 
Gabblewig,  will  remember  that  it  included  a  whole 
cluster  of  grotesque  creations  of  his  own.  Among 
these  there  was  a  stone-deaf  old  man,  who,  whenever 
he  was  shouted  at,  used  to  sigh  out  resignedly,  "  Ah, 
it's  no  use  your  whispering  !  "  Besides  whom  there 
was  a  garrulous  old  lady,  in  herself  the  worthy  double 
of  Mrs.  Gamp  ;  a  sort  of  half-brother  to  Sam  Weller ; 
and  an  alternately  shrieking  and  apologetic  valetudi 
narian,  who  was,  perhaps,  the  most  whimsical  of  them 
all.  Nothing  more,  however,  need  here  be  said  in 
regard  to  Charles  Dickens's  share,  either  in  these 
performances  for  the  Guild  or  in  the  other  strictly 
private  theatricals.  They  are  simply  here  referred 
to,  as  having  prepared  the  way  by  practice,  for  the 
Headings,  still  so  called,  though,  in  all  save  costume 
and  general  mis  en  scene,  they  were  from  first 


10  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   EEADEK. 

to  last  essentially  and  intensely  dramatic  representa 
tions. 

Headings  of  this  character,  it  is  curious  to  reflect  for 
a  moment,  resemble  somewhat  in  the  simplicity  of  their 
surroundings  the  habitual  stage  arrangements  of  the 
clays  of  Shakspere.  The  arena,  in  each  instance, 
might  be  described  accurately  enough  as  a  platform, 
draped  with  screens  and  hangings  of  cloth  or  of  green 
baize.  The  principal  difference,  in  point  of  fact,  be 
tween  the  two  would  be  apparent  in  this,  that  whereas, 
in  the  one  case  any  reasonable  number  of  performers 
might  be  grouped  together  simultaneously,  in  the  other 
there  would  remain  from  first  to  last  before  the  audi 
ence  but  one  solitary  performer.  He,  however,  as  a 
mere  matter  of  course,  by  the  very  necessity  of  his 
position,  would  have  to  be  regarded  throughout  as 
though  he  were  a  noun  of  multitude  signifying  many. 
Slashed  doublets  and  trunk  hose,  might  just  possibly 
be  deemed  by  some  more  picturesque,  if  not  in  outline, 
at  least  in  colour  and  material,  than  the  evening  cos 
tume  of  now-a-days.  But,  apart  from  this,  whatever 
would  meet  the  gaze  of  the  spectator  in  either  instance 
would  bear  the  like  aspect  of  familiarity  or  of  incon 
gruity,  in  contrast  to  or  in  association  with,  the  cha 
racters  represented  at  the  moment  before  actual  con 
temporaries.  These  later  performances  partake,  of 
course,  in  some  sense  of  the  nature  of  a  monologue. 
Besides  which,  they  involve  the  display  of  a  desk  and 
a  book  instead  of  the  almost  ludicrous  exhibition  of  a 


CHARLES   DICKENS    AS   A   READER.  11 

board  inscribed,  as  the  case  might  be,  "  Syracuse"  or 
"  Verona."  Apart  from  this,  however,  a  modern  read 
ing  is,  in  the  very  nature  of  it,  like  a  reverting  to  the 
primitive  simplicity  of  the  stage,  when  the  stage,  in 
its  social  influences,  was  at  its  highest  and  noblest, 
when,  for  the  matter  of  that,  it  was  all  but  paramount. 
Given  genius  in  the  author  and  in  the  impersonator, 
and  that  very  simplicity  has  its  enormous  advantages. 

The  greatest  of  all  the  law-givers  of  art  in  this  later 
civilisation  has  more  than  merely  hinted  at  what  is 
here  maintained.  Goethe  has  said  emphatically,  in 
Wilhelm  Meister,  that  a  really  good  actor  makes  us 
soon  enough  forget  the  awkwardness,  even  the  mean 
ness,  of  trumpery  decorations  ;  whereas,  he  continues, 
a  magnificent  theatre  is  precisely  the  very  thing  that 
makes  us  feel  the  most  keenly  the  want  of  actors  of 
real  excellence.*  How  wisely  in  this  Goethe,  accord 
ing  to  his  wont,  has  spoken,  we  all  of  us,  here  in 
England,  know  by  our  own  experience.  Of  the  truth 
of  his  opinion  we  have  had  in  this  country,  of  late 
years,  more  than  one  startling  illustration.  Archaeo 
logical  knowledge,  scenic  illusion,  gorgeous  upholstery, 
sumptuous  costumes,  have,  in  the  remembrance  of 
many,  been  squandered  in  profusion  upon  the  boards 
of  one  of  our  London  theatres  in  the  getting  up  of  a 
drama  by  the  master-dramatist.  All  this  has  tended, 

*  "  ©in  gutcc  8d)au§£teler  ntadjt  un8  6atb  cine  cfenfce,  unScIjtcfticlje  tcforaticn 
ttcrgeffen,  tafyingcgen  fca3  ^cfjonStc  tfycvitei:  fcen  mancjet  an  gutcn  gcl)auS)nc(ctn  er^t 
rccl;t  fufyfbat  mac(;t.;i 


12  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

however,  only  to  realise  the  more  painfully  the  inade 
quacy  of  the  powers,  no  less  of  the  leading  star  than 
of  his  whole  company,  to  undertake  the  interpretation 
of  the  dramatic  masterpiece.  The  spectacle  which  we 
are  viewing  in  such  an  instance  is,  no  doubt,  resplen 
dent  ;  but  it  is  so  purely  as  a  spectacle.  Everything 
witnessed  is — 

"  So  coldly  sweet,  so  deadly  fair, 
"We  start,  for  soul  is  wanting  there." 

• 

The  result  naturally  is,  that  the  public  is  disillusioned 
and  that  the  management  is  bankrupt.  Another  strik 
ingly-contrasted  experience  of  the  present  generation  is 
this,  that,  without  any  decorations  whatever,  enormous 
audiences  have  been  assembled  together,  in  the  old 
world  and  in  the  new,  upon  every  occasion  upon  which 
they  have  been  afforded  the  opportunity,  to  hear  a  story 
related  by  the  lips  of  the  writer  of  it.  And  they  have 
been  so  assembled  not  simply  because  the  story  itself 
(every  word  of  it  known  perfectly  well  beforehand) 
was  worth  hearing  again,  or  because  there  was  a  very 
natural  curiosity  to  behold  the  famous  author  by  whom 
it  had  been  penned ;  but,  above  all,  because  his  voice, 
his  glance,  his  features,  his  every  movement,  his  whole 
person,  gave  to  his  thoughts  and  his  emotions,  whether 
for  tears  or  for  laughter,  the  most  vivid  interpre 
tation. 

How  it  happened,  in  this  instance,  that  a  writer  of 
celebrity  like  Charles  Dickens  became  a  reader  of  his 


CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    HEADER.  13 

own  works  before  large  public  audiences  may  be  readily 
explained.  Before  his  first  appearance  in  that  character 
professionally — that  is,  as  a  public  reader,  on  his  own 
account — he  had  enjoyed  more  than  twenty  years  of  un 
exampled  popularity  as  a  novelist.  During  that  period 
he  had  not  only  securely  established  his  reputation  in 
authorship,  but  had  evidenced  repeatedly,  at  intervals 
during  the  later  portion  of  it,  histrionic  powers  hardly 
less  remarkable  in  their  way  than  those  gifts  wrhich  had 
previously  won  for  him  his  wholly  exceptional  fame  as 
a  writer  of  imagination. 

Among  his  personal  intimates,  among  all  those  who 
knew  him  best,  it  had  long  come  to  be  recognised  that 
his  skill  as  an  impersonator  was  only  second  to  his 
genius  as  a  creator  of  humorous  and  pathetic  character. 
His  success  in  each  capacity  sprang  from  his  intense 
sympathy  and  his  equally  intense  earnestness.  What 
ever  with  him  was  worth  doing  at  all,  was  worth  doing 
thoroughly.  Anything  he  undertook,  no  matter  what, 
he  went  in  at,  according  to  the  good  old  sea  phrase, 
with  a  will.  He  always  endeavoured  to  accomplish 
whatever  had  to  be  accomplished  as  well  as  it  could 
possibly  be  effected  within  the  reach  of  his  capabilities. 
Whether  it  were  pastime  or  whether  it  were  serious 
business,  having  once  taken  anything  in  hand,  he 
applied  to  it  the  whole  of  his  energies.  Hence,  as  an 
amateur  actor,  he  was  simply  unapproachable.  He 
passed,  in  fact,  be}rond  the  range  of  mere  amateurs, 
and  was  brought  into  contrast  by  right,  with  the  most 


14  CHAELES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

gifted  professionals  among  his  contemporaries.  Hence, 
again,  as  an  after-dinner  speaker,  he  was  nothing  less 
than  incomparable.  "He  spoke  so  well,"  Anthony 
Trollope  has  remarked,  "that  a  public  dinner  became 
a  blessing  instead  of  a  curse  if  he  were  in  the  chair — 
had  its  compensating  twenty  minutes  of  pleasure,  even 
if  he  were  called  upon  to  propose  a  toast  or  thank 
the  company  for  drinking  his  health."  He  did  nothing 
by  halves,  but  everything  completely.  How  completely 
he  gave  himself  up  to  the  delivery  of  a  speech  or  of 
a  reading,  Mr.  Arthur  Helps  has  summed  up  in  less 
than  a  dozen  words  of  singular  emphasis.  That  keen 
observer  has  said,  indeed  quite  trulv,  of  Dickens, — 
"When  he  read  or  spoke,  the  whole  man  read  or 
spoke."  It  was  thus  with  him  repeatedly,  and  always 
delightfully,  in  mere  chance  conversation.  An  incident 
related  by  him  often  became  upon  the  instant  a  little 
acted  drama.  His  mimetic  powers  were  in  many 
respects  marvellous.  In  voice,  in  countenance,  in 
carriage,  almost,  it  might  be  said,  at  moments,  in 
stature,  he  seemed  to  be  a  Proteus. 

According  to  a  curious  account  which  has  been 
happily  preserved  for  us  in  the  memoirs  of  the 
greatest  reader  of  the  last  century,  Henderson  first 
of  all  exhibited  his  elocutionary  skill  by  reciting  (it 
was  at  Islington)  an  Ode  on  Shakspere.  So  exactly 
did  he  deliver  this  in  Garrick's  manner,  that  the 
acutest  ear  failed  to  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other. 
One  of  those  present  declared,  years  afterwards,  that 


CHAELES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER.  15 

he  was  certain  the  speaker  must  le  either  Garrick  or 
Antichrist. 

Imitative  powers  not  one  iota  less  extraordinary  in 
their  way  were,  at  any  moment,  seemingly,  at  the 
command  of  the  subject  of  this  memorial.  In  one  or 
two  instances  that  might  be  named  the  assumption 
was  all  but  identity.  An  aptitude  of  this  particular 
kind,  as  everyone  can  appreciate  upon  the  instant, 
would  by  necessity  come  wonderfully  in  aid  of  the 
illusive  effect  produced  by  readings  that  were  in  point 
of  fact  the  mere  vehicle  or  medium  for  a  whole  crowd 
of  vivid  impersonations.  Anyone,  moreover,  possess 
ing  gifts  like  these,  of  a  very  peculiar  description,  not 
only  naturally  but  inevitably  enjoys  himself  every  op 
portunity  that  may  arise  for  displaying  them  to  those 
about  him,  to  his  friends  and  intimates.  "Man  is  of 
a  companionable,  conversing  nature,"  says  Goethe 
in  his  novel  of  The  Renunciants,  "his  delight  is 
great  when  he  exercises  faculties  that  have  been  given 
him,  even  though  nothing  further  came  of  it."  Seeing 
that  something  further  readily  did  come  of  it  in  the  in 
stance  of  Charles  Dickens,  it  can  hardly  be  matter  for 
surprise  that  the  readings  and  impersonations  which 
were  first  of  all  a  home  delight,  should  at  length 
quite  naturally  have  opened  up  before  the  popular 
author  what  was  for  him  an  entirely  new,  but  at  the 
same  time  a  perfectly  legitimate,  career  professionally. 

Recitations  or  readings  of  his  own  works  in  public 
by  a  great  writer  are,  in  point  of  fact,  as  old  as 


16  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

literature  itself.     They  date  back  to  the  very  origin 
of  polite  letters,   both  prose  and  poetic.     It  matters 
nothing  whether  there   was  one  Homer,   or  whether 
there  may  have  been  a  score  of  Homers,  so  far  as  the 
fact  of  oral  publication  applies  to  the  Iliad  and  the 
Odyssey,  nearly  a  thousand   years  (900)  before    the 
foundation  of  Christianity.     By  the  lips  of  a  single 
bard,  or  of  a  series  of  bards,  otherwise  of  public  de- 
claimers  or  reciters,  the  world  was  first  familiarised 
with  the  many  enthralling  tales  strung  together  in  those 
peerless  masterpieces.  Again,  at  a  period  of  very  nearly 
five  hundred  years  (484)  before  the  epoch  of  the  Ke- 
demption,  the  Father  of  History  came  to  lay  the  founda 
tion,  as  it  were,  of  the  whole  fabric  of  prose  literature 
in  a  precisely  similar  manner — that  is  to  say,  by  public 
readings  or  recitations.     In  point  of  fact,  the  instance 
there  is  more  directly  akin  to  the  present  argument. 
A  musical  cadence,  or  even  possibly  an  instrumental 
accompaniment,  may  have  marked  the  Homeric  chant 
about  Achilles  and  Ulysses.     Whereas,  obviously,  in 
regard  to   Herodotus,    the  readings  given  by  him  at 
the    Olympic   games    were   readings    in   the   modern 
sense,  pure  and  simple.     Lucian  has  related  the  inci 
dent,  not  only  succinctly,  but  picturesquely. 

Herodotus,  then  in  his  fiftieth  year,  reflected  for  a 
long  while  seriously  how  he  might,  with  the  least 
trouble  and  in  the  shortest  time,  win  for  himself  and 
his  writings  a  large  amount  of  glory  and  reputation. 
Shrinking  from  the  fatigue  involved  in  the  labour  of 


CHARLES    DICKENS    AS   A    READER.  17 

visiting  successively  one  after  another  the  chief  cities 
of  the  Athenians,  the  Corinthians,  and  the  Lacedae 
monians,  he  ingeniously  hit  upon  the  notion  of 
appearing  in  person  at  the  Olympian  Games,  and  of 
there  addressing  himself  simultaneously  to  the  very  pick 
and  flower  of  the  whole  Greek  population.  Providing 
himself  beforehand  with  the  choicest  portions  or  select 
passages  from  his  great  narrative,  he  there  read  or 
declaimed  those  fragments  of  his  History  to  the  as 
sembled  multitude  from  the  stage  or  platform  of  the 
theatre.  And  he  did  this,  moreover,  with  such  an 
evident  captivation  about  him,  not  only  in  the  style  of 
his  composition,  but  in  the  very  manner  of  its  delivery, 
that  the  applause  of  his  hearers  interrupted  him  re 
peatedly — the  close  of  these  recitations  by  the  great 
author-reader  being  greeted  with  prolonged  and  re 
sounding  acclamations.  Nay,  not  only  are  these 
particulars  related  as  to  the  First  Eeading  recorded 
as  having  been  given  by  a  Great  Author,  but,  further 
than  that,  there  is  the  charming  incident  described 
of  Thucydides,  then  a  boy  of  fifteen,  listening  en 
tranced  among  the  audience  to  the  heroic  occurrences 
recounted  by  the  sonorous  and  impassioned  voice 
of  the  annalist,  and  at  the  climax  of  it  all  burst 
ing  into  tears.  Lucian's  comment  upon  that  earliest 
Reading  might,  with  a  change  of  names,  be  applied 
almost  word  for  word  to  the  very  latest  of  these 
kinds  of  intellectual  exhibitions.  "  None  were  igno 
rant,"  he  says,  "of  the  name  of  Herodotus;  nor 


18  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    EEADEE. 

was  there  a  single  person  in  Greece  who  had  not 
either  seen  him  at  the  Olympics,  or  heard  those  speak 
of  him  that  came  from  thence  :  so  that  in  what  place 
soever  he  came  the  inhabitants  pointed  with  their 
linger,  saying  '  This  is  that  Herodotus  who  has  written 
the  Persian  Wars  in  the  Ionic  dialect,  this  is  he  who 
has  celebrated  our  victories.'  Thus  the  harvest  which 
he  reaped  from  his  histories  was,  the  receiving  in  one 
assembly  the  general  applause  of  all  Greece,  and  the 
sounding  his  fame,  not  only  in  one  place  and  by  a 
single  trumpet,  but  by  as  many  mouths  as  there  had 
been  spectators  in  that  assembly."  As  recently  as 
within  these  last  two  centuries,  indeed,  both  in  the 
development  of  the  career  of  Moliere  and  in  the 
writing  of  his  biography  jby  Voltaire,  the  whole  ques 
tion  as  to  the  propriety  of  a  great  author  becoming 
the  public  interpreter  of  his  own  imaginings  has  been, 
not  only  discussed,  but  denned  with  precision  and  in 
the  end  authoritatively  proclaimed.  Voltaire,  in  truth, 
has  significantly  remarked,  in  his  "  Vie  de  Moliere," 
when  referring  to  Poquelin's  determination  to  become 
Comedian  as  well  as  Dramatist,  that  among  the  Athe 
nians,  as  is  perfectly  well  known,  authors  not  only  fre 
quently  performed  in  their  own  dramatic  productions, 
but  that  none  of  them  ever  felt  dishonoured  by  speaking 
gracefully  in  the  presence  and  hearing  of  their  fellow- 
citizens.*  In  arriving  at  this  decision,  however, 

*  "On  salt  quo  cliez  les  Athenians,  les  auteurs  jonaient  souvent  dans 


CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER.  19 

it  will  be  remarked  that  one  simple  but  important 
proviso  or  condition  is  indicated — not  to  be  dis 
honoured  they  must  speak  with  grace,  that  is,  effec 
tively.  Whenever  an  author  can  do  this,  the  fact 
is  proclaimed  by  the  public  themselves.  Does  he  lack 
the  dramatic  faculty,  is  he  wanting  in  elocutionary 
skill,  is  his  delivery  dull,  are  his  features  inexpressive, 
is  his  manner  tedious,  are  his  readings  marked  only  by 
their  general  tameness  and  mediocrity,  be  sure  of  this, 
he  will  speedily  find  himself  talking  only  to  empty 
benches,  his  enterprise  will  cease  and  determine,  his 
name  will  no  longer  prove  an  attraction.  Abortive 
adventures  of  this  kind  have  in  our  own  time  been 
witnessed. 

With  Charles  Dickens's  Readings  it  was  entirely 
different.  Attracting  to  themselves  at  the  outset, 
by  the  mere  glamour  of  his  name,  enormous  audiences, 
they  not  only  maintained  their  original  prestige 
during  a  long  series  of  years — during  an  interval 
of  fifteen  years  altogether — but  the  audiences  brought 
together  by  them,  instead  of  showing  any  signs 
of  diminution,  very  appreciably,  on  the  contrary,  in 
creased  and  multiplied.  Crowds  were  turned  away 
from  the  doors,  wrho  wTere  unable  to  obtain  admittance. 
The  last  reading  of  all  collected  together  the  largest 
audience  that  has  ever  been  assembled,  that  ever  can 
by  possibility  be  assembled  for  purely  reading  purposes, 

leurs  pieces,  et  qu'ils  n'etoient  point  deshonores  pour  parler  avec  grace 
devant  leurs  concitoyens." 

c  2 


20  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

within  the  walls  of  St.  James's  Hall,  Piccadilly. 
Densely  packed  from  floor  to  ceiling,  these  audiences 
were  habitually  wont  to  hang  in  breathless  expectation 
upon  every  inflection  of  the  author-reader's  voice, 
upon  every  glance  of  his  eye, — the  words  he  was  about 
to  speak  being  so  thoroughly  well  remembered  by  the 
majority  before  their  utterance  that,  often,  the  rippling 
of  a  smile  over  a  thousand  faces  simultaneously  antici 
pated  the  laughter  which  an  instant  afterwards  greeted 
the  words  themselves  when  they  were  articulated. 

Altogether,  from  first  to  last,  there  must  have  been 
considerably  more  than  Four  Hundred — very  nearly, 
indeed,  Five  Hundred — of  these  Headings,  each  one 
among  them  in  itself  a  memorable  demonstration. 
Through  their  delightful  agency,  at  the  very  outset, 
largess  was  scattered  broadcast,  abundantly,  and  with  a 
wide  open  hand,  among  a  great  variety  of  recipients, 
whose  interests,  turn  by  turn,  were  thus  exclusively 
subserved,  at  considerable  labour  to  himself,  during  a 
period  of  several  years,  by  this  large-hearted  entertainer. 

Eventually  the  time  arrived  when  it  became  neces 
sary  to  decide,  whether  an  exhausting  and  unremu- 
nerative  task  should  be  altogether  abandoned,  or 
whether  readings  hitherto  given  solely  for  the  benefit  of 
others,  should  be  thenceforth  adopted  as  a  perfectly 
legitimate  source  of  income  for  himself  professionally. 

The  ball  was  at  his  feet :  should  it  be  rolled  on,  or 
fastidiously  turned  aside  by  reason  of  certain  fantastic 
notions  as  to  its  derogating,  in  some  inconceivable 


CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER.  21 

way,  from  the  dignity  of  authorship  ?  That  was  the 
alternative  in  regard  to  which  Dickens  had  to  decide, 
and  upon  which  he  at  once,  as  became  him,  decided 
manfully.  The  ball  was  rolled  on,  and,  as  it  rolled, 
grew  in  bulk  like  a  snowball.  It  accumulated  for  him, 
as  it  advanced,  and  that  too  within  a  wonderfully  brief 
interval,  a  very  considerable  fortune.  It  strengthened 
and  extended  his  already  widely-diffused  and  intensely 
personal  popularity.  By  making  him,  thus,  distinctly 
a  Reader  himself,  it  brought  him  face  to  face  with  vast 
multitudes  of  his  own  readers  in  the  Old  World  and 
in  the  New,  in  all  parts  of  the  United  Kingdom,  and 
at  last,  upon  the  occasion  of  his  second  visit  to 
America,  an  expedition  adventured  upon  expressly  to 
that  end,  in  all  parts  of  the  United  States. 

And  these  Readings  were  throughout  so  conspicu 
ously  and  so  radiantly  a  success,  that  even  in  the 
recollection  of  them,  now  that  they  are  things  of  the 
past,  it  may  be  said  that  they  have  already  beneficially 
influenced,  and  are  still  perceptibly  advancing,  the 
wider  and  keener  appreciation  of  the  writings  them 
selves.  In  its  gyrations  the  ball  then  rolling  at  the 
Reader's  foot  imparted  a  momentum  to  one  far  nobler 
and  more  lasting — that  of  the  Novelist's  reputation, 
one  that  in  its  movement  gives  no  sign  of  slackening — 
"  labitur  et  labetur  in  omne  volubilis  aevum." 

The  long  continuance  of  the  remarkable  success 
attendant  upon  the  Readings  all  through,  is  only  to  be 
explained  by  the  extraordinary  care  and  earnestness 


22  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS   A    READER, 

the  Reader  lavished  continuously  upon  his  task  when 
once  it  had  been  undertaken.  In  this  he  was  only  in 
another  phase  of  his  career,  consistently  true  to  the 
one  simple  rule  adopted  by  him  as  an  artist  through 
out.  What  that  rule  was  anyone  might  see  at  a  glance 
on  turning  over  the  leaves  of  one  of  his  books,  it 
matters  not  which,  in  the  original  manuscript.  There, 
the  countless  alterations,  erasures,  interpolations, 
transpositions,  interlineations,  shew  plainly  enough 
the  minute  and  conscientious  thought  devoted  to  the 
perfecting,  so  far  as  might  be  in  any  way  possible,  of 
the  work  of  composition.  What  reads  so  unaffectedly 
and  so  felicitously,  it  is  then  seen,  is  but  the  result  of 
exquisite  consideration.  It  is  Sheridan's  whimsical 
line  which  declares  that,— 

"Eas}  writing's  cursed  hard  reading." 

And  it  is  Pope  who  summarizes  the  method  by  which 
not  "  easy  writing"  but  "  ease  In  writing  "  is  arrived 
at,  where  it  is  said  of  those  who  have  acquired  a 
mastery  of  the  craft,— 

"  They  polish  all  with  so  much  life  and  ease, 
You  think  'tis  nature  and  a  knack  to  please  : 
But  ease  in  writing  flows  from  art,  not  chance  ; 
As  those  move  easiest  who  have  Icarn'dto  dance." 

Precisely  the  same  elaboration  of  care,  which  all 
through  his  career  was  dedicated  by  Charles  Dickens 
to  the  most  delightful  labour  of  his  life,  that  of  writ 
ing,  wras  accorded  by  him  to  the  lesser  but  still 


CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER.  23 

eminently  intellectual  toil  of  preparing  liis  Readings 
for  representation.  It  was  not  by  any  means  that, 
having  written  a  story  years  previously,  he  had,  in  his 
new  capacity  as  a  reciter,  merely  to  select  two  or  three 
chapters  from  it,  and  read  them  off  with  an  air  of 
animation.  Virtually,  the  fragmentary  portions  thus 
taken  from  his  larger  works  were  re -written  by  him, 
with  countless  elisions  and  eliminations  after  having 
been  selected.  Reprinted  in  their  new  shape,  each 
as  "A  Reading,"  they  were  then  touched  and  re 
touched  by  their  author,  pen  in  hand,  until,  at  the 
end  of  a  long  succession  of  revisions,  the  pages  came 
to  be  cobwebbed  over  with  a  wonderfully  intricate 
network  of  blots  and  lines  in  the  way  of  correction  or 
of  obliteration.  Several  of  the  leaves  in  this  way, 
what  with  the  black  letter-press  on  the  white  paper, 
being  scored  out  or  interwoven  with  a  tracery  in  red 
ink  and  blue  ink  alternately,  present  to  view  a  cu 
riously  parti-coloured  or  tesselated  appearance.  As  a 
specimen  page,  however,  will  afford  a  more  vivid  illus 
tration  upon  the  instant  of  what  is  referred  to,  than 
could  be  conveyed  by  any  mere  verbal  description,  a 
fac-simile  is  here  introduced  of  a  single  page  taken 
from  the  "  Reading  of  Little  Dombey." 

Whatever  thought  was  lavished  thus  upon  the 
composition  of  the  Readings,  was  lavished  quite  as 
unstintingly  upon  the  manner  of  their  delivery. 
Thoroughly  natural,  impulsive,  and  seemingly  artless, 
though  that  manner  always  appeared  at  the  moment, 


24  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    EEADER. 

it  is  due  to  the  Reader  as  an  artist  to  assert  that 
it  was  throughout  the  result  of  a  scarcely  credible 
amount  of  forethought  and  preparation.  It  is  thus 
invariably  indeed  with  every  great  proficient  in  the 
histrionic  art,  even  with  those  who  are  quite  erro 
neously  supposed  by  the  outer  public  to  trust  nearly 
everything  to  the  momentary  impulses  of  genius,  and 
who  are  therefore  presumed  to  disdain  anything 
whatever  in  the  way  either  of  forethought  or  of  actual 
preparation  by  rehearsal. 

According  to  what  is,  even  down  to  this  present  day, 
very  generally  conjectured,  Edmund  Kean,  one  of  the 
greatest  tragedians  who  ever  trod  the  stage,  is  popu 
larly  imagined  to  have  always  played  simply,  as  might 
be  said,  hap-hazard,  trusting  himself  to  the  spur  of 
the  moment  for  throwing  himself  into  a  part  passion 
ately; — the  fact  being  exactly  the  reverse  in  his 
regard,  according  to  the  earliest  and  most  accurate  of 
his  biographers.  Erratic,  fitful  though  the  genius  of 
Edmund  Kean  unquestionably  was — rendering  him 
peerless  as  Othello,  incomparable  as  Overreach — we 
are  told  in  Mr.  Procter's  life  of  him,  that  "lie 
studied  long  and  anxiously,"  frequently  until  many 
hours  after  midnight.*  No  matter  what  his  occu 
pations  previously  might  have  been,  or  how  profound 
his  exhaustion  through  rehearsing  in  the  forenoon, 
and  performing  in  the  evening,  and  sharing  in  con 
vivialities  afterwards,  Barry  Cornwall  relates  of  him 
*  Barry  Cornwall's  Life  of  Edmund  Kean,  Vol.  II.  p.  85. 


CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    READER.  25 

that  he  would  often  begin  to  study  when  his  family 
had  retired  for  the  night,  practising  in  solitude,  after 
he  had  transformed  his  drawing-room  into  a  stage 
in  miniature.  "  Here,"  says  his  biographer,  "  with 
a  dozen  candles,  some  on  the  floor,  some  on  the 
table,  and  some  on  the  chimney-piece,  and  near  the 
pier-glass,  he  would  act  scene  after  scene  :  consider 
ing  the  emphasis,  the  modulation  of  the  verse,  and  the 
fluctuations  of  the  character  with  the  greatest  care." 
And  this,  remember,  has  relation  to  one  who  was 
presumably  about  the  most  spontaneous  and  impulsive 
actor  who  ever  flashed  meteor-like  across  the  boards 
of  a  theatre.  Whoever  has  the  soul  of  an  artist 
grudges  no  labour  given  to  his  art,  be  he  reader  or 
actor,  author  or  tragedian.  Charles  Dickens  certainly 
spared  none  to  his  Readings  in  his  conscientious  en 
deavour  to  give  his  own  imaginings  visible  and  audible 
embodiment.  The  sincerity  of  his  devotion  to  his 
task,  when  once  it  had  been  taken  in  hand,  was  in  its 
way  something  remarkable. 

Acting  of  all  kinds  has  been  pronounced  by  Mrs. 
Butler — herself  in  her  own  good  day  a  rarely  accom 
plished  reader  and  a  fine  tragic  actress — "a monstrous 
anomaly."  As  illustrative  of  her  meaning  in  which 
phrase,  she  then  adds,  "John  Kemble  and  Mrs. 
Siddons  were  always  in  earnest  in  what  they  were 
about;  Miss  O'Neil  used  to  cry  bitterly  in  all  her 
tragic  parts ;  whilst  Garrick  could  be  making  faces 
*  Fanny  Kcmble's  Journal,  Vol.  II.  p.  130. 


26  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

and  playing  tricks  in  the  middle  of  Iris  finest  points, 
and  Kean  would  talk  gibberish  while  the  people  were 
in  an  uproar  of  applause  at  his."  Fanny  Kemble 
further  remarks:  ''In  my  own  individual  instance, 
I  know  that  sometimes  I  could  turn  every  word  I 
am  saying  into  burlesque," — immediately  observing 
here,  in  a  reverential  parenthesis  "  (never  Shakspere, 
by-the-bye) — and  at  others  my  heart  aches  and  I  cry 
real,  bitter,  warm  tears  a-s  earnestly  as  if  I  was  in 
earnest."  Reading  which  last  sentence,  one  might 
very  safely  predicate  that  in  the  one  instance,  where 
she  could  turn  her  words  into  burlesque,  she  would  be 
certain  to  act  but  indifferently,  whereas  in  the  other, 
with  the  hot,  scalding  tears  running  down  her  face, 
she  could  not  by  necessity  do  otherwise  than  act  to 
admiration. 

So  thorough  and  consistent  throughout  his  reading 
career  was  the  sincerity  of  Dickens  in  his  impersona 
tions,  that  his  words  and  looks,  his  thoughts  and  emo 
tions  were  never  mere  make-believes,  but  always,  so  far 
as  the  most  vigilant  eye  or  the  most  sensitive  ear 
could  detect,  had  their  full  and  original  significance. 

"With  all  respect  for  Miss  O 'Neil's  emotion,  and  for 
that  candidly  confessed  to  by  Mrs.  Butler,  as  having 
been  occasionally  evidenced  by  herself,  the  true  art, 
we  should  have  said,  subsists  in  the  indication  and  the 
repression,  far  rather  than  in  the  actual  exhibition  or 
manifestation  of  the  emotions  that  are  to  be  represented. 
Better  by  far  than  the  familiar  si  vis  me  flere  axiom  of 


CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER.  27 

Horace,  who  there  tells  us,  "If  you  would  have  me 
weep,  you  must  first  weep  yourself,"  is  the  sagacious 
comment  on  it  in  the  Tatler,  where  (No.  68)  the 
essayist  remarks,  with  subtle  discrimination  :  "  The 
true  art  seems  to  be  when  you  would  have  the  person 
you  represent  pitied,  you  must  show  him  at  once,  in 
the  highest  grief,  and  struggling  to  bear  it  with 
decency  and  patience.  In  this  case,"  adds  the  writer, 
"  we  sigh  for  him,  and  give  him  every  groan  he  sup 
presses."  As  for  the  extravagant  idea  of  any  artist, 
however  great,  identifying  himself  for  the  time  being 
with  the  part  he  is  enacting,  who  is  there  that  can 
wonder  at  the  snort  of  indignation  with  which  Doctor 
Johnson,  talking  one  day  about  acting,  asked  Mr. 
Kemble,  "  Are  you,  sir,  one  of  those  enthusiasts  who 
believe  yourself  transformed  into  the  very  character 
you  represent?"  Kemble  answering,  according  to 
Boswell,  that  he  had  never  himself  felt  so  strong  a 
persuasion — "  To  be  sure  not,  sir,"  says  Johnson, 
"the  thing  is  impossible."  Adding,  with  one  of  his 
dryly  comical  extravagances  :  "  And  if  Garrick  really 
believed  himself  to  be  that  monster  Richard  the  Third, 
he  deserved  to  be  hanged  every  time  he  performed 
it."  What  Dickens  himself  really  thought  of  these 
wilder  affectations  of  intensity  among  impersonators, 
is,  with  delicious  humour,  plainly  enough  indicated 
through  that  preposterous  reminiscence  of  Mr. 
Crummies,  "  We  had  a  first-tragedy  man  in  our  com 
pany  once,  who,  when  he  played  Othello,  used  to 


28  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

black  himself  all  over  !  But  that's  feeling  a  part,  and 
going  into  it  as  if  you  meant  it ;  it  isn't  usual — more's 
the  pity."  Thoroughly  giving  himself  up  to  the 
representation  of  whatever  character  he  was  endea 
vouring  at  the  moment  to  portray,  or  rather  to  im 
personate,  Charles  Dickens  so  completely  held  his 
judgment  the  while  in  equipoise,  as  master  of  his  two 
fold  craft — that  is,  both  as  creator  and  as  elocutionist, 
as  author  and  as  reader — that,  as  an  invariable  rule,  he 
betrayed  neither  of  those  signs  of  insincerity,  by  the 
inadvertent  revelation  of  which  all  sense  of  illusion 
is  utterly  and  instantly  dissipated. 

Whatever  scenes  he  described,  those  scenes  his 
hearers  appeared  to  be  actually  witnessing  themselves. 
He  realised  everything  in  his  own  mind  so  intensely, 
that  listening  to  him  we  realised  what  he  spoke  of  by 
sympathy.  Insomuch  that  one  might,  in  his  own 
words,  say  of  him,  as  David  Copperfield  says  of  Mr. 
Peggotty,  when  the  latter  has  been  recounting  little 
Emily's  wanderings  :  "  He  saw  everything  he  related. 
It  passed  before  him,  as  he  spoke,  so  vividly,  that,  in 
the  intensity  of  his  earnestness,  he  presented  what 
he  described  to  me  with  greater  distinctness  than  I 
can  express.  I  can  hardly  believe — writing  now  long 
afterwards — but  that  I  was  actually  present  in  those 
scenes ;  they  are  impressed  upon  me  with  such  an 
astonishing  air  of  fidelity."  While,  on  the  one  hand, 
he  never  repeated  the  words  that  had  to  be  delivered 
phlegmatically,  or  as  by  rote ;  on  the  other  hand, 


CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER.  29 

lie  never  permitted  voice,  look,  gesture,  to  pass  the 
limits  of  discretion,  even  at  moments  the  most  im 
passioned  ;  as,  for  example,  where  Nancy,  in  the  famous 
murder-scene,  shrieked  forth  her  last  gasping  and  de 
spairing  appeals  to  her  brutal  paramour.  The  same 
thing  may  be  remarked  again  in  regard  to  all  the 
more  tenderly  pathetic  of  his  delineations.  His  tones 
then  were  often  subdued  almost  to  a  whisper,  every 
syllable,  nevertheless,  being  so  distinctly  articulated 
as  to  be  audible  in  the  remotest  part  of  a  vast  hall 
like  that  in  Piccadilly. 

Whatever  may  be  insinuated  in  regard  to  those  par 
ticular  portions  of  the  writings  of  our  great  novelist  by 
cynical  depredators,  who  have  not  the  heart  to 
recognise — as  did  Lord  Jeifrey,  for  instance,  one  of 
the  keenest  and  shrewdest  critics  of  his  age — the 
exquisite  pathos  of  a  death-scene  like  that  of  little 
Nell  or  of  little  Paul  Dombey,  in  the  utterance  by 
himself  of  those  familiar  passages  nothing  but  the 
manliest  emotion  was  visible  and  audible  from  first -to 
last.  Insomuch  was  this  the  case,  that  the  least  im 
pressionable  of  his  hearers  might  readily  have  echoed 
those  noble  words,  written  years  ago,  out  of  an  over 
flowing  heart,  in  regard  to  Charles  Dickens,  by  his  great 
rival  and  his  intense  admirer,  W.  M.  Thackeray  :  "In 
those  admirable  touches  of  tender  humour,  who  ever 
equalled  this  great  genius  ?  There  are  little  words  and 
phrases  in  his  books  which  are  like  personal  benefits  to 
the  reader.  What  a  place  to  hold  in  the  affections  of 


30  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

men !  What  an  awful  responsibility  hanging  over  a 
writer  ! "  And  so  on.  Thackeray  saying  all  this  ! 
Thackeray  speaking  thus  in  ejaculatory  sentences  indi 
cative  of  his  gratitude  and  of  his  admiration !  Passages, 
that  to  men  like  William  Thackeray  and  Francis  Jeffrey 
were  expressive  only  of  inimitable  tenderness,  might  be 
read  dry-eyed  by  less  keen  appreciators,  from  the 
printed  page,  might  even  be  ludicrously  depreciated  by 
them  as  mere  mawkish  sentimentality.  But/even  among 
these,  there  was  hardly  one  who  could  hear  those  very 
passages  read  by  Dickens  himself  without  recognising 
at  last,  what  had  hitherto  remained  unperceived  and 
unsuspected,  the  gracious  and  pathetic  beauty  animat 
ing  every  thought  and  every  word  in  the  original 
descriptions.  Equally,  it  may  be  said,  in  the  delinea 
tion  of  terror  and  of  pathos,  in  the  murder-scene  from 
Oliver  Twist,  and  in  the  death-scene  of  little  Dombey, 
the  novelist-reader  attained  success  by  the  simple 
fact  of  his  never  once  exaggerating. 

It  has  been  wrell  remarked  by  an  eminent  authority 
upon  the  art  of  elocution,  whose  opinions  have  been 
already  quoted  in  these  pages,  to  wit,  John  Ireland,  that 
"  There  is  a  point  to  which  the  passions  must  be  raised 
to  display  that  exhibition  of  them  which  scatters  con 
tagious  tenderness  through  the  whole  theatre,  but 
carried,  though  but  the  breadth  of  a  hair,  beyond  that 
point,  the  picture  becomes  an  overcharged  caricature, 
as  likely  to  create  laughter  as  diffuse  distress."  Never, 
perhaps,  has  that  subtle  boundary-line  been  hit  with 


CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    EEADEK.  31 

more  admirable  dexterity,  just  within  the  hair's  breadth 
here  indicated,  than  it  was,  for  example,  in  Macready's 
impersonation  of  Virginias,  where  his  scream  in  the 
camp-scene  betrayed  his  instantaneous  appreciation  of 
the  wrong  meditated  by  Appius  Claudius  against  the 
virginal  purity  of  his  daughter.  As  adroitly,  in  his 
way,  as  that  great  master  of  his  craft,  who  was  for  so 
many  years  among  his  most  cherished  friends  and 
intimates,  Dickens  kept  within  the  indicated  lines  of 
demarcation,  beyond  which  no  impersonator,  whether 
upon  the  stage  or  upon  the  platform,  can  ever  pass 
for  a  single  instant  with  impunity. 

Speaking  of  Munden,  in  one  of  the  most  charming 
of  his  Essays,  Charles  Lamb  has  said,  "  I  have  seen 
him  diffuse  a  glow  of  sentiment  which  has  made  the 
pulse  of  a  crowded  house  beat  like  that  of  one  man  ; 
when  he  has  come  in  aid  of  the  pulpit,  doing  good  to 
the  moral  heart  of  a  people."  The  words,  applied  thus 
emphatically  to  the  humorous  and  often  grotesque 
comedian,  are  exactly  applicable  to  Dickens  as  a 
Header.  And,  as  Elia  remarks  of  Munden  at  another 
moment,  "  he  is  not  one,  but  legion  ;  not  so  much  a 
comedian  as  a  company  " — any  one  might  say  identi 
cally  the  same  of  Dickens,  who  bears  in  remembrance 
the  wonderful  variety  of  his  impersonations. 

Attending  his  Readings,  character  after  character 
appeared  before  us,  living  and  breathing,  in  the  flesh, 
as  we  looked  and  listened.  It  mattered  nothing,  just 
simply  nothing,  that  the  great  author  was  there  all  the 


32  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS   A    READER. 

while   before  his  audience  in  his  own  identity.     His 
evening  costume  was  a  matter  of  no  consideration — 
the  flower  in  his  button-hole,  the  paper-knife  in  his 
hand,  the  book  before  him,  that  earnest,  animated, 
mobile,  delightful   face,   that  we    all   knew   by  heart 
through  his  ubiquitous  photographs — all  were  equally 
of  no  account  whatever.     We  knew  that  he  alone  was 
there  all  the  time  before  us,  reading,  or,  to  speak  more 
accurately,  re-creating  for  us,  one  and  all — while  his 
lips  were  articulating  the  familiar  words  his  hand  had 
written  so  many  years  previously — the  most  renowned 
of     the     imaginary    creatures    peopling    his    books. 
Watching  him,  hearkening  to  him,  wrhile  he  stood  there 
unmistakably  before  his  audience,  on  the  raised  plat 
form,  in  the   glare  of  the   gas-burners   shining  down 
upon  him  from  behind  the  pendant  screen  immediately 
above  his  head,  his   individuality,   so   to  express  it, 
altogether  disappeared,  and  we  saw  before  us  instead, 
just  as  the  case  might  happen  to  be,  Mr.  Pickwick,  or 
Mrs.  Gamp,  or  Dr.  Marigold,  or  little  Paul  Dombey, 
or  Mr.  Squeers,  or  Sam  Weller,  or  Mr.  Peggotty,  or 
some  other  of  those  immortal  personages.     We  were 
as  conscious,  as  though  we  saw  them,  of  the  bald  head, 
the  spectacles,  and  the  little  gaiters  of  Mr.  Pickwick — 
of  the   snuffy  tones,  the  immense  umbrella,  and  the 
voluminous  bonnet  and  gown  of  Mrs.  Gamp — of  the 
belcher  necktie,  the  mother-of-pearl  buttons  and  the 
coloured  waistcoat  of  the  voluble  Cheap  Jack — of  little 
Paul's  sweet  face  and  gentle  accents — of  the  one  eye 


CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    READER.  33 

and  the  well-known  pair  of  Wellingtons,  adorning  the 
head  and  legs  of  Mr.  Wackford  Sqneers — of  Sam's 
imperturbable  nonchalance — and  of  Mr.  Peggotty's 
hearty,  briny,  sou' -wester  of  a  voice  and  general 
demeanour  ! 

Even  the  lesser  characters — those  which  are  intro 
duced  into  the  original  works  quite  incidentally, 
occupying  there  a  wholly  subordinate  position,  filling 
up  a  space  in  the  crowded  tableaux,  always  in  the 
background — were  then  at  last  brought  to  the  fore  in 
the  course  of  these  Headings,  and  suddenly  and  for  the 
first  time  assumed  to  themselves  a  distinct  importance 
and  individuality.  Take,  for  instance,  the  nameless 
lodging-housekeeper's  slavey,  who  assists  at  Bob 
Sawyer's  party,  and  who  is  described  in  the  original 
work  as  "a  dirty,  slipshod  girl,  in  black  cotton  stock 
ings,  who  might  have  passed  for  the  neglected  daughter 
of  a  superannuated  dustman  in  very  reduced  circum 
stances."  No  one  had  ever  realised  the  crass  stupidity 
of  that  remarkable  young  person — dense  and  impene 
trable  as  a  London  fog — until  her  first  introduction  in 
these  Readings,  with  "Please,  Mister  Sawyer,  Missis 
Raddle  wants  to  speak  to  you!  " — the  dull,  dead-level 
of  her  voice  ending  in  the  last  monosyllable  with  a 
series  of  inflections  almost  amounting  to  a  chromatic 
passage.  Mr.  Justice  Stareleigh,  again  ! — nobody  had 
ever  conceived  the  world  of  humorous  suggestiveness 
underlying  all  the  words  put  into  his  mouth  until  the 
author's  utterance  of  them  came  to  the  readers  of 

D 


34-  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    HEADER. 

Pickwick  with  the  surprise  of  a  revelation.  Jack 
Hopkins  in  like  manner — nobody,  one  might  say,  had 
ever  dreamt  of  as  he  was  in  Dickens's  inimitably  droll 
impersonation  of  him,  until  the  lights  and  shades  of  the 
finished  picture  were  first  of  all  brought  out  by  the 
Beading.  Jack  Hopkins ! — with  the  short,  sharp,  quick 
articulation,  rather  stiff  in  the  neck,  with  a  diyly  comic 
look  just  under  the  e}Telids,  with  a  scarcely  expressible 
relish  of  his  own  for  every  detail  of  that  wonderful 
story  of  his  about  the  "  neckluss,"  an  absolute  and 
implicit  reliance  upon  Mr.  Pickwick's  gullibility,  and 
an  inborn  and  ineradicable  passion  for  chorusing. 

As  with  the  characters,  so  with  the  descriptions. 
One  was  life  itself,  the  other  was  not  simply  word- 
painting,  but  realisation.  There  was  the  Great  Storm 
at  Yarmouth,  for  example,  at  the  close  of  David 
Copperfield.  Listening  to  that  Reading,  the  very 
portents  of  the  coming  tempest  came  before  us  ! — 
the  flying  clouds  in  wild  and  murky  confusion,  the 
moon  apparently  plunging  headlong  among  them,  "  as 
if,  in  a  dread  disturbance  of  the  laws  of  nature, 
she  had  lost  her  way  and  were  frightened,"  the  wind 
rising  "  with  an  extraordinary  great  sound,"  the 
sweeping  gusts  of  rain  coming  before  it  "  like  showers 
of  steel,"  and  at  last,  down  upon  the  shore  and  by  the 
surf  among  the  turmoil  of  the  blinding  wind,  the  flying 
stones  and  sand,  "the  tremendous  sea  itself,"  that 
came  rolling  in  with  an  awful  noise  absolutely  con 
founding  to  the  beholder !  In  all  fiction  there  is 


CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER.  35 

110  grander  description  than  that  of  one  of  the 
sublimest  spectacles  in  nature.  The  merest  frag 
ments  of  it  conjured  up  the  entire  scene — aided  as 
those  fragments  were  by  the  look,  the  tones, 
the  whole  manner  of  the  Reader.  The  listener 
was  there  with  him  in  imagination  upon  the  beach, 
beside  David.  He  was  there,  lashed  and  saturated 
with  the  salt  spray,  the  briny  taste  of  it  on  his  lips, 
the  roar  and  tumult  in  his  ears — the  height  to  which 
the  breakers  rose,  and,  looking  over  one  another  bore 
one  another  down  and  rolled  in,  in  interminable  hosts, 
becoming  at  last,  as  it  is  written  in  that  wonderful 
chapter  (55)  of  David  Copperfield,  "most  appal 
ling!"  There,  in  truth,  the  success  achieved  was  more 
than  an  elocutionary  triumph — it  was  the  realisation 
to  his  hearers,  by  one  who  had  the  soul  of  a  poet,  and 
the  gifts  of  an  orator,  and  the  genius  of  a  great  and 
vividly  imaginative  author,  of  a  convulsion  of  nature 
when  nature  bears  an  aspect  the  grandest  and  the  most 
astounding.  However  much  a  masterly  description, 
like  that  of  the  Great  Storm  at  Yarmouth,  may  be 
admired  henceforth  by  those  who  never  had  the  oppor 
tunity  of  attending  these  Readings,  one  might  surely 
say  to  them,  as  ^Eschines  said  to  the  Rhodians,  when 
they  were  applauding  the  speech  of  his  victorious  rival  : 
"  How  much  greater  would  have  been  your  admira 
tion  if  only  you  could  have  heard  him  deliver  it !  " 


THE    HEADINGS 

ix 

ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA. 


How  it  happened  that  Charles  Dickens  came  to 
give  any  readings  at  all  from  his  own  writings  has- 
already,  in  the  preceding  pages,  been  explained. 
What  is  here  intended  to  be  done  is  to  put  on  record, 
as  simply  and  as  accurately  as  possible,  the  facts  re 
lating  to  the  labours  gone  through  by  the  Novelist 
in  his  professional  character  as  a  Public  Reader.  It 
will  be  then  seen,  immediately  those  facts  have  come  to- 
be  examined  in  their  chronological  order,  that  they  were 
sufficiently  remarkable  in  many  respects,  as  an  episode 
in  the  life  of  a  great  author,  to  justify  their  being 
chronicled  in  some  way  or  other,  if  only  as  consti 
tuting  in  their  aggregate  a  wholly  unexampled  inci 
dent  in  the  history  of  literature. 

No  writer,  it  may  be  confidently  asserted,  has  ever 
enjoyed  a  wider  popularity  during  his  own  life-time 
than  Charles  Dickens  ;  or  rather  it  might  be  said 
more  accurately,  no  writer  has  ever  enjoyed  so  wide  a 
popularity  among  his  own  immediate  contemporaries. 
And  it  was  a  popularity  in  many  ways  exceptional. 


THE    READINGS   IN    ENGLAND   AND    AMERICA.      37 

It  knew  no  fluctuation.  It  lasted  without  fading  or 
faltering  during  thirty-four  years  altogether,  that  is  to 
sa}T,  throughout  the  whole  of  Dickens's  career  as  a 
novelist.  It  began  with  his  very  first  book,  when,  as 
Thackeray  put  it,  "  the  young  man  came  and  took  his 
place  calmly  at  the  head  of  the  whole  tribe,  as  the 
master  of  all  the  English  humorists  of  his  genera 
tion."  It  showed  no  sign  whatever  of  abatement, 
when,  in  the  middle  of  writing  his  last  book,  the  pen 
fell  from  his  hand  on  that  bright  summer's  day,  and 
through  his  death  a  pang  of  grief  was  brought  home 
to  millions  of  English-speaking  people  in  both  hemis 
pheres.  For  his  popularity  had,  among  other  dis 
tinctive  characteristics,  certainly  this, — it  was  so  pecu 
liarly  personal  a  popularity,  his  name  being  endeared 
to  the  vast  majority  who  read  his  books  with  nothing 
less  than  affectionate  admiration. 

Besides  all  this,  it  was  his  privilege  throughout  the 
whole  of  his  literary  career  to  address  not  one  class, 
or  tAvo  or  three  classes,  but  all  classes  of  the  reading 
public  indiscriminately — the  most  highly  educated  and 
the  least  educated,  young  and  old,  rich  and  poor. 
His  writings  obtained  the  widest  circulation,  of  course, 
among  those  who  were  the  most  numerous,  such  as 
;among  the  middle  classes  and  the  better  portion  of  the 
.artisan  population,  but  they  found  at  the  same  time 
the  keenest  and  cordialest  appreciation  among  those 
who  were  necessarily  the  best  qualified  to  pronounce 
.an  opinion  upon  their  merits,  among  critics  as  gifted 


38  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

as  Jeffrey  and  Sydney  Smith,  and  among  rivals  as 
illustrious  as  Lytton  and  Thackeray.  It  seems  appro 
priate,  therefore,  that  we  should  be  enabled  to  add 
now,  in  regard  to  the  possession  of  this  exceptional 
reputation,  and  of  a  popularity  in  itself  so  instant, 
sustained,  personal,  and  comprehensive,  that,  thanks 
entirely  to  these  Readings,  he  was  brought  into  more 
intimate  relations  individually  with  a  considerable 
portion  at  least  of  the  vast  circle  of  his  own  readers, 
than  have  ever  been  established  between  any  other 
author  who  could  be  named  and  his  readers,  since 
literature  became  a  profession. 

Strictly  speaking,  the  very  first  Reading  given 
by  Charles  Dickens  anywhere,  even  privately,  was 
that  which  took  place  in  the  midst  of  a  little 
home-group,  assembled  one  evening  in  1843,  for  the 
purpose  of  hearing  the  "  Christmas  Carol,"  prior 
to  its  publication,  read  by  him  in  the  Lincoln's-Inn 
Square  Chambers  of  the  intimate  friend  to  whom, 
eighteen  years  afterwards,  was  inscribed,  as  "  of  right," 
the  Library  Edition  of  all  the  Novelist's  works  col 
lectively.  Thus  unwittingly,  and  as  it  seems  to  us  not 
unbefittingly,  was  rehearsed  on  the  hearth  of  Dickens' & 
future  biographer,  the  first  of  the  long  series  of  Read 
ings,  afterwards  to  be  given  very  publicly  indeed,  and 
to  vast  multitudes  of  people  on  both  sides  of  the 
Atlantic. 

As  nearly  as  possible  ten  years  after  this,  the  public 
Readings  commenced,  and  during  the  five  next  years- 


THE    HEADINGS    IN    ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      39 

were  continued,  though  they  were  so  but  very  inter- 
mittingly.  Throughout  that  interval  they  were  in 
variably  given  for  the  benefit  of  others,  the  proceeds 
of  each  Beading  being  applied  to  some  generous 
purpose,  the  nature  of  which  was  previously  an 
nounced.  It  was  in  the  Town  Hall  at  Birmingham, 
that  immediately  before  the  Christmas  of  1853,  the 
first  of  all  these  public  Readings  took  place  in 
the  presence  of  an  audience  numbering  fully  two 
thousand.  About  a  year  before  that,  the  Novelist 
had  pledged  himself  to  give  this  reading,  or  rather  a, 
series  of  three  readings,  for  the  purpose  of  increasing 
the  funds  of  a  new  Literary  and  Scientific  Institution 
then  projected  in  Birmingham.  On  Thursday,  the  6th 
of  January,  1853,  a  silver-gilt  salver  and  a  diamond 
ring,  accompanied  by  an  address,  expressive  of  the 
admiration  of  the  subscribers  to  the  testimonial,  had 
been  publicly  presented  in  that  town  to  the  popular 
author,  at  the  rooms  of  the  Society  of  Arts  in  Temple 
Row.  The  kind  of  feeling  inspiring  this  little  incident 
may  be  recognised  through  the  inscription  on  the  salver, 
which  intimated  that  it,  "  together  with  a  diamond 
ring,  was  presented  to  Charles  Dickens,  Esq.,  by  a 
number  of  his  admirers  in  Birmingham,  on  the  occa 
sion  of  the  literary  and  artistic  banquet  in  that  town, 
on  the  6th  of  January,  1853,  as  a  sincere  testimony 
of  their  appreciation  of  his  varied  literary  acquire 
ments,  and  of  the  genial  philosophy  and  high  moral 
teaching  which  characterise  his  writings."  It  was 


40  CHAELES    DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

upon  the  morrow  of  the  banquet  referred  to  in  this 
inscription,  a  banquet  which  took  place  at  Dee's  Hotel 
immediately  after  the  presentation  of  the  testimonial 
to  the  Novelist,  that  the  latter  generously  proposed  to 
give  later  on  some  public  Readings  from  his  own  books, 
in  furtherance  of  the  newly  meditated  Birmingham 
and  Midland  Institute. 

The  proposition,  in  fact,  was  thrown  out,  gracefully 
and  almost  apologetically,  in  a  letter,  addressed  by  him 
to  Mr.  Arthur  Ryland  on  the  following  clay,  the  7th  of 
January.  In  this  singularly  interesting  communica 
tion,  which  was  read  by  its  recipient  on  the  ensuing 
Monday,  at  a  meeting  convened  in  the  theatre  of  the 
Philosophical  Institution,  not  only  did  Charles  Dickens 
offer  to  read  his  "  Christinas  Carol  "  some  time  during 
the  course  of  the  next  Christmas,  in  the  Town  Hall  at 
Birmingham,  but  referring  to  the  complete  novelty  of 
his  proposal,  he  thus  plainly  intimated  that  the  occa 
sion  would  constitute  his  very  first  appearance  upon 
any  public  platform  as  a  Reader,  while  explaining,  at 
the  same  time,  the  precise  nature  of  the  suggested 
entertainment.  "  It  would,"  he  said,  "  take  about 
two  hours,  with  a  pause  of  ten  minutes  half-way 
through.  There  would  be  some  novelty  in  the  thing, 
as  I  have  never  done  it  in  public,  though  I  have  in 
private,  and  (if  I  may  say  so)  with  a  great  effect  on 
the  hearers."  He  further  remarked,  "  I  was  so  inex 
pressibly  gratified  last  night  by  the  warmth  and  en 
thusiasm  of  my  Birmingham  friends,  that  I  feel  half 


THE    EEADINGS    IN    ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      41 

ashamed  this  morning  of  so  poor  an  offer :  but  as  I 
decided  on  making  it  to  you  before  I  came  down 
yesterday,  I  propose  it  nevertheless."  As  a  matter  of 
course  the  proposition  was  gratefully  accepted,  the 
Novelist  formally  undertaking  to  give  the  proffered 
Eeadings  in  the  ensuing  Christmas.  This  promise, 
before  the  year  was  out,  Dickens  returned  from  abroad 
expressly  to  fulfil — hastening  homeward  to  that  end, 
after  a  brief  autumnal  excursion  in  Italy  and  Switzer 
land  with  two  of  his  friends,  the  late  Augustus  Egg, 
E.  A.,  and  Wilkie  Collins,  the  novelist.  On  the 
arrival  of  the  three  in  Paris,  they  were  there  joined 
by  Charles  Dickens's  eldest  son,  who,  having  passed 
through  his  course  at  Eton,  had  just  then  been  com 
pleting  his  scholastic  education  at  Leipsic.  The  party 
thus  increased  to  a  partie  carree,  hastened  homewards 
more  hurriedly  than  would  otherwise  have  been  neces 
sary,  so  as  to  enable  the  author  punctually  to  fulfil  his 
long-standing  engagement. 

It  was  on  Tuesday,  the  27th  of  December,  1853, 
therefore,  that  the  very  first  of  these  famous  Headings 
came  off  in  the  Town  Hall  at  Birmingham.  The 
weather  was  wretched,  but  the  hall  was  crowded,  and 
the  audience  enthusiastic.  The  Beading,  which  was 
the  "  Christmas  Carol,"  extended  over  more  than 
three  hours  altogether,  showing  how  very  little  of  the 
original  story  the  then  unpractised  hand  of  the  Header 
had  as  yet  eliminated.  Notwithstanding  the  length  of 
the  entertainment,  the  unflagging  interest,  more  even 


42  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    EEADER. 

than  the  hearty  and  reiterated  applause  of  those  who 
were  assembled,  showed  the  lively  sense  the  author's 
first  audience  had  of  his  newly-revealed  powers  as  a 
narrator  and  impersonator.  On  the  next  day  but  one, 
Thursday,  the  29th  of  December,  he  read  there,  to  an 
equally  large  concourse,  the  "  Cricket  on  the  Hearth." 
Upon  the  following  evening,  Friday,  the  30th  of  De 
cember,  he  repeated  the  "  Carol  "  to  another  densely 
packed  throng  of  listeners,  mainly  composed,  this 
time,  according  to  his  own  express  stipulation,  of 
workpeople.  So  delighted  were  these  unsophisticated 
hearers  with  their  entertainer — himself  so  long  fami 
liarly  known  to  them,  but  then  for  the  first  time  seen 
and  heard — that,  at  the  end  of  the  Pleading,  they 
greeted  him  with  repeated  rounds  of  cheering. 

Those  three  Headings  at  Birmingham  added  con 
siderably  to  the  funds  of  the  Institute,  enhancing 
them  at  least  to  the  extent  of  .£400  sterling.  In  recog 
nition  of  the  good  service  thus  effectively  and  delight 
fully  rendered  to  a  local  institution,  to  the  presidency 
of  w7hich  Charles  Dickens  himself  was  unanimously 
elected,  an  exquisitely  designed  silver  flower-basket 
was  afterwards  presented  to  the  novelist's  wife.  This 
graceful  souvenir  had  engraved  upon  it  the  follow 
ing  inscription :  "Presented  to  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens 
\>y  the  Committee  of  the  Birmingham  and  Midland 
Institute,  as  a  slight  acknowledgment  of  the  debt  of 
gratitude  due  to  her  husband,  for  his  generous  liber 
ality  in  reading  the  '  Christmas  Carol/  and  the 


THE    READINGS    IN    ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      43 

*  Cricket  on  the  Hearth,'  to  nearly  six  thousand 
persons,  in  the  Town  Hall,  Birmingham,  on  the  nights 
of  December  27,  29,  and  30,  1853,  in  aid  of  the  funds 
for  the  establishment  of  the  Institute."  The  incident 
of  these  three  highly  successful  Headings  entailed  upon 
the  Reader,  as  events  proved,  an  enormous  amount  of 
toil,  none  of  which,  however,  did  he  ever  grudge,  in 
affording  the  like  good  service  to  others,  at  uncertain 
intervals,  in  all  parts,  sometimes  the  remotest  parts, 
of  the  United  Kingdom. 

It  would  be  beside  our  present  purpose  to  catalogue, 
one  after  another,  the  various  Headings  given  in  this 
way  by  the  Novelist,  before  he  was  driven  to  the  neces 
sity  at  last  of  either  giving  up  reading  altogether,  or 
coming  to  the  determination  to  adopt  it,  as  he  then 
himself  expressed  it,  as  one  of  his  recognised  occupa 
tions  ;  that  is,  by  becoming  a  Reader  professionally. 
It  is  with  his  career  in  his  professional  capacity  as  a 
Reader  that  we  have  here  to  do.  Until  he  had  formally 
and  avowedly  assumed  that  position,  his  labours  in 
this  way  were,  as  a  matter  of  course,  in  no  respect 
whatever  systematised.  They  were  uncertain,  and  in 
one  sense,  as  the  sequel  shewed,  purely  tentative  or 
preliminary.  They  yielded  a  world  of  delight,  how 
ever,  and  did  a  world  of  good  at  the  same  time  ;  while 
they  were,  unconsciously  to  himself,  preparing  the  way 
effectually — that  is,  by  ripening  his  powers  and  per 
fecting  his  skill  through  practice — for  the  opening  up 
to  himself,  quite  legitimately,  of  a  new  phase  in  his 


44  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

career  as  a  man  of  letters.  Previously,  again  and 
again,  with  the  pen  in  his  hand,  he  had  proved  him 
self  to  be  the  master-humorist  of  his  time.  He  was 
now  vividly  to  attest  that  fact  by  word  of  mouth,  by 
the  glance  of  his  eye,  by  the  application  to  the  reading 
of  his  own  books,  of  his  exceptional  mimetic  and 
histrionic  gifts  as  an  elocutionist.  Added  to  ail  this, 
by  merely  observing  how  readily  he  could  pour, 
through  the  proceeds  of  these  purely  benevolent  Read 
ings,  princely  largess  into  the  coffers  of  charities  or  of 
institutions  in  which  he  happened  to  be  interested, 
he  was  to  realise,  what  must  otherwise  have  remained 
for  him  wholly  unsuspected,  that  he  had,  so  to  speak, 
but  to  stretch  forth  his  hand  to  grasp  a  fortune. 

During  the  lapse  of  five  years  all  this  was  at  first 
very  gradually,  but  at  last  quite  irresistibly,  brought 
home  to  his  conviction.  A  few  of  the  Readings  thus 
given  by  him,  out  of  motives  of  kindliness  or  generosity, 
may  here,  in  passing,  be  particularised. 

A  considerable  time  after  the  three  Readings  just 
mentioned,  and  which  were  distinctly  inaugurative  of 
the  whole  of  our  author's  reading  career,  there  was  one, 
which  came  off  in  Peterborough,  that  has  not  only  been 
erroneously  described  as  antecedent  to  those  three 
Readings  at  Birmingham,  but  has  been  depicted,  at  the 
same  time,  with  details  in  the  account  of  it  of  the  most 
preposterous  character.  The  Reader,  for  example, 
has  been  portrayed, — in  this  purely  apociyphal  de 
scription  of  what  throughout  it  is  always  referred  to 


THE    READINGS    IN    ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      45 

as  though  it  were  the  first  Reading  of  all,  which  it 
certainly  was  not, — as  in  a  highly  nervous  state  from 
the  commencement  of  it  to  its  conclusion  !     This  being 
said  of  one  who,  when  asked  if  he  ever  felt  nervous 
while  speaking  in  public,  is  known  to  have  replied, 
"  Not  in  the  least  " — adding,  that  "  when  first  he  took 
the  chair  he  felt  as  much  confidence  as  though  he   had 
already  done  the  like  a  hundred  times  !  "  As  corrobora 
tive  of  which  remark,  the  present  writer  recalls  to  re 
collection  very  clearly  the  fact  of  Dickens  saying  to 
him   one  day, — saying  it   with  a  most- whimsical  air 
by-the-b}Te,  but  very  earnestly, — "  Once,  and  but  once 
only  in  nry  life,  I  was — frightened  !  "     The  occasion 
he  referred  to  was  simply   this,   as   he   immediately 
went  on  to  explain,  that  somewhere  about  the  middle 
of  the  serial  publication  of  David  Copperfield,   hap 
pening   to  be   out  of  writing-paper,   he  sallied  forth 
one  morning  to  get  a  fresh  supply  at  the  stationer's. 
He  was  living  then  in  his  favourite  haunt,  at  Fort 
House,  in  Broadstairs.     As  he  was  about  to  enter  the 
stationer's  shop,  with  the  intention  of  buying  the  need 
ful  writing-paper,  for  the  purpose   of  returning  home 
with  it,  and  at  once   setting  to   work  upon  his  next 
number,  not  one  word  of  which  was  yet  written,  he 
stood  aside  for  a  moment  at  the   threshold  to  allow 
a  lady  to  pass  "in  before  him.     He  then  went  011  to  re 
late — with  a  vivid  sense   still  upon  him  of  mingled 
enjoyment  and  dismay  in  the  mere  recollection — how 
the  next  instant  he  had  overheard  this  strange  lady 


4-G  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    HEADER. 

asking  the  person  behind  the  counter  for  the  new 
green  number.  When  it  was  handed  to  her,  "  Oh, 
this,"  said  she,  "  I  have  read.  I  want  the  next  one." 
The  next  one  she  was  thereupon  told  would  be  out 
by  the  end  of  the  month.  "  Listening  to  this,  unre 
cognised,"  lie  added,  in  conclusion,  "  knowing  the 
purpose  for  which  I  was  there,  and  remembering 
that  not  one  word  of  the  number  she  was  asking  for 
was  yet  written,  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  my 
life,  I  felt — frightened !  "  So  much  for  the  circum 
stantial  account  put  forth  of  this  Heading  at  Peter 
borough,  and  of  the  purely  imaginary  nervous 
ness  displayed  by  the  Reader,  who,  on  the  contrary, 
there,  as  elsewhere,  was  throughout  perfectly  self- 
possessed. 

On  Saturday,  the  22nd  December,  1855,  in  the 
Mechanics'  Hall  at  Sheffield,  another  of  these  Readings 
was  given,  it  being  the  "  Carol,"  as  usual,  and  the 
proceeds  being  in  aid  of  the  funds  of  that  institution. 
The  Mayor  of  Sheffield,  who  presided  upon  the  occa 
sion,  at  the  close  of  the  proceedings,  presented  to  the 
author,  as  a  suitable  testimonial  from  a  number  of  his 
admirers  in  that  locality,  a  complete  set  of  table 
cutlery. 

An  occasional  Reading,  moreover,  was  given  at 
Chatham,  to  assist  in  defraying  the  expenses  of  the 
Chatham,  Rochester,  Strood,  and  Brompton  Me 
chanics'  Institution,  of  which  the  master  of  Gadshill 
was  for  thirteen  years  the  President.  His  titular  or 


THE    HEADINGS    IN    ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      47 

official  connection  with  this  institute,  in  effect,  was 
that  of  Perpetual  President.  His  interest  in  it  in 
that  character  ceased  only  with  his  life.  Throughout 
the  whole  of  the  thirteen  years  during  which  he  pre 
sided  over  its  fortunes,  he  was  in  every  imaginable 
way  its  most  effective  and  energetic  supporter.  Six 
Readings  in  all  were  given  by  him  at  the  Chatham 
Mechanics'  Institution,  in  aid  of  its  funds.  The  first, 
which  was  the  "  Christmas  Carol,"  took  place  on  the 
27th  December,  1857,  the  new  Lecture  Hall,  which  was 
appropriately  decorated  with  evergreens  and  brilliantly 
illuminated,  being  crowded  with  auditors,  conspicuous 
among  whom  were  the  officers  of  the  neighbouring 
garrison  and  dockyard.  The  second,  which  consisted 
of  "Little  Dombe}7"  and  "The  Trial  Scene  from 
Pickwick,"  came  off  on  the  29th  December,  1858. 
Long  before  any  arrangement  had  been  definitively 
made  in  regard  to  this  second  Reading,  the  local  news 
paper,  in  an  apparently  authoritative  paragraph,  an 
nounced,  "  on  the  best  authority,"  that  another  Reading- 
was  immediately  to  be  given,  by  Mr.  Dickens,  in 
behalf  of  the  Mechanics'  Institution.  It  is  character 
istic  of  him  that  he,  thereupon,  wrote  to  the  Chatham 
newspaper,  "I  know  nothing  of  your  'best  authority,' 
except  that  he  is  (as  he  always  is)  preposterously  and 
monstrously  wrong."  Eventually  this  Reading  was 
arranged  for,  nevertheless,  and  came  off  at  the  date 
already  mentioned.  A  third  Reading  at  Chatham, 
•comprising  within  it  "  The  Poor  Traveller "  (the 


48  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

opening  of  which  had  a  peculiar  local  interest), 
"  Boots  at  the  Holly  Tree  Inn,"  and  "  Mrs.  Gamp," 
took  place  in  I860,  on  the  18th  December.  A  fourth 
was  given  there  on  the  16th  January,  1862,  when  the 
Novelist  read  his  six  selected  chapters  from  "David 
Copperfield."  A  fifth,  consisting  of  "Nicholas  Nickle- 
by  at  Dotheboys  Hall,"  and  "Mr.  Bob  Sawyer's 
Party,"  took  place  in  1863,  on  the  15th  December. 
Finally,  there  came  off  the  sixth  of  these  Chatham 
readings,  on  the  19th  December,  1865,  when  the 
"  Carol"  was  repeated,  with  the  addition  of  the  great 
case  of  "  Bardell  versus  Pickwick."  Upwards  of  ^400 
were  thus,  as  the  fruit  of  these  exhilarating  entertain 
ments,  poured  into  the  coffers  of  the  Chatham  Insti 
tute.  It  can  hardly  be  wondered  at  that,  in  the  annual 
reports  issued  by  the  committee,  emphatic  expression 
should  have  been  more  than  once  given  to  the  deep 
sense  of  gratitude  entertained  by  them  for  the  services 
rendered  to  the  institution  by  its  illustrious  president. 
A  fragmentary  portion  of  that  issued  by  the  committee 
in  the  January  of  1864 — referring,  as  it  does,  to 
Charles  Dickens,  in  association  with  his  home  and 
his  favourite  haunts  down  at  Gadshill — we  are  here 
tempted  to  give,  as  indicative  of  the  feelings  of  pride  and 
admiration  with  which  the  great  author  was  regarded 
by  his  own  immediate  neighbours.  After  referring 
to  the  large  sums  realised  for  the  institution  through  the 
Headings  thus  generously  given  by  its  president,  the 
committee  went  on  to  say  in  this  report,  at  the  be- 


THE    READINGS   IN   ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      49 

ginning  of  1864,  "  Simply  to  have  the  name  of  one 
whose  writings  have  become  household  words  at  every 
home  and  hearth  where  the  English  language  is  spoken, 
associated  with  their  efforts  for  the  public  entertain 
ment  and  improvement,  must  be  considered  a  great 
honour  and  advantage.  But,  when  to  this  is  added 
the  large  pecuniary  assistance  derived  from  such  a 
connection,  your  committee  find  that  they — and,  of 
course,  the  members  whom  they  represent — owe  a 
debt  of  gratitude  to  Mr.  Dickens,  which  words  can 
but  poorly  express.  They  trust  that  the  home  which 
he  now  occupies  in  the  midst  of  the  beautiful  wood 
lands  of  Kent,  and  so  near  to  the  scene  of  his  boyish 
memories  and  associations,  may  long  be  to  him  one  of 
happiness  and  prosperity.  If  Shakspere,  our  greatest 
national  poet,  had  before  made  Gadshill  a  classic  spot, 
surely  it  is  now  doubly  consecrated  by  genius  since 
Dickens,  the  greatest  and  most  genial  of  modern 
humorists,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  powerful  and 
pathetic  delineators  of  human  character,  has  fixed  his 
residence  there.  To  those  who  have  so  often  and  so 
lately  been  moved  to  laughter  and  tears  by  the  humour 
and  pathos  of  the  inimitable  writer  and  reader,  and 
who  have  profited  by  his  gratuitous  services  to  the 
institution,  your  committee  feel  that  they  need  make 
no  apology  for  dwelling  at  some  length  upon  this  most 
agreeable  part  of  their  report."  Thus  profound  were 
the  feelings  of  respect,  affection,  and  admiration  with 
which  the  master-humorist  was  regarded  by  those  who 


50  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

lived,  and  who  were  proud  of  living,  in  his  own  im 
mediate  neighbourhood. 

On  the  evening  of  Tuesday,  the  30th  June,  1857, 
Charles  Dickens  read  for  the  first  time  in  London,  at 
the  then  St.  Martin's  Hall,  now  the  Queen's  Theatre, 
in  Long  Acre.  The  occasion  was  one,  in  many  respects, 
of  peculiar  interest.  As  recently  as  on  the  8th  of 
that  month,  Douglas  Jerrold  had  breathed  his  last,  quite 
unexpectedly.  Dying  in  the  fulness  of  his  powers,  and 
at  little  more  than  fifty  years  of  age,  he  had  passed 
away,  it  was  felt,  prematurely.  As  a  tribute  of  affec 
tion  to  his  memory,  and  of  sympathy  towards  his 
widow  and  orphan  children,  those  among  his  brother 
authors  who  had  been  more  intimately  associated  with 
him  in  his  literary  career,  organised,  in  the  interests 
of  his  bereaved  famity,  a  series  of  entertainments. 
And  in  the  ordering  of  the  programme  it  was  so 
arranged  that  this  earliest  metropolitan  reading  of  one 
of  his  smaller  works  by  Charles  Dickens  should  be 
the  second  of  these  entertainments.  Densely  crowded 
in  every  part,  St.  Martin's  Hall  upon  this  occasion 
was  the  scene  of  as  remarkable  a  reception  and  of 
as  brilliant  a  success  as  was  in  any  way  possible. 
It  was  a  wonderful  success  financially.  As  an 
elocutionary — or,  rather,  as  a  dramatic — display,  it 
was  looked  forward  to  with  the  liveliest  curiosity. 
The  author's  welcome  when  he  appeared  upon  the 
platform  was  of  itself  a  striking  attestation  of  his 
popularity. 


THE    READINGS   IN   ENGLAND   AND    AMERICA.      51 

Upwards  of  fourteen  years  have    elapsed  since  the 
occasion  referred  to,  yet  we  have  still  as  vividly  in  our 
remembrance,  as  though  it  were  but   an  incident  of 
yesterday,  the   enthusiasm  of  the  reception  then  ac 
corded  to  the  great  novelist  by  an  audience  composed, 
for  the  most  part,  of  representative  Londoners.     The 
applause  with  which  he  was  greeted,  immediately  upon 
his  entrance,  was  so  earnestly  prolonged  and  sustained, 
that  it  threatened  to  postpone  the  Beading  indefinitely. 
Silence  having  at  last   been   restored,  however,   the 
Header's  voice  became  audible  in  the  utterance  of  these 
few   and   simple   words,    by   way   of    preliminary  : — 
"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  have  the  honour  to  read 
"to  you  '  A  Christmas  Carol,'  in  four  staves.     Stave 
"one,  'Marley's  Ghost.'"     The  effect,  by  the  way, 
becoming  upon  the  instant  rather  incongruous,  as  the 
writer   of  this   very  well  remembers,  when,   through 
a     sudden    and     jarring    recollection    of    what    the 
•occasion  was  that  had  brought  us  all  together,  the 
Header  began,  with  a  serio-comic  inflection,  "  Marley 
was  dead  :  to  begin  with.     There's  no  doubt  whatever 
about  that.     The  register  of  his  burial  was  signed." 
And  so  on  through  those  familiar  introductory  sen 
tences,  in  which  Jacob   Marley's   demise  is   insisted 
upon  with  such  ludicrous  particularity.     The  moment 
ary  sense   of  incongruit}^   here  referred  to  was  lost, 
however,  directly  afterwards,  as  everyone's  attention 
became    absorbed    in    the    author's   own    relation  to 
us   of  his   world-famous    ghost-story    of    Christmas. 

E    2 


5:>  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

Whereas  the  First  Beading  of  the  tale  down  in  the 
provinces  had  occupied  three  hours  in  its  delivery, 
the  First  Reading  of  it  in  the  metropolis  had  been 
diminished  by  half  an  hour.  Beginning  at  8  r.  M.y 
and  ending  at  very  nearly  10.30  P.  M.,  with  merely  five 
minutes'  interruption  about  midway,  the  entertainment 
so  enthralled  and  delighted  the  audience  throughout, 
that  its  close,  after  two  hours  and  a  half  of  the  keenest 
attention,  was  the  signal  for  a  long  outburst  of  cheers, 
mingled  with  the  waving  of  hats  and  handkerchiefs* 
The  description  of  the  scene  there  witnessed  is  in  no 
way  exaggerated.  It  is  the  record  of  our  own  re 
membrance. 

And  the  enthusiasm  thus  awakened  among  Charles 
Dickens's  first  London  audience  can  hardly  be  won 
dered  at,  when  we  recall  to  mind  Thackeray's  expres 
sion  of  opinion  in  regard  to  that  very  same  story 
of  the  Christmas  Carol  immediately  after  its  publi 
cation,  when  he  wrote  in  Frascr,  July,  1844,  under 
his  pseudonym  of  M.  A.  Titmarsh:  "It  seems  to  me 
a  national  benefit,  and  to  every  man  and  woman  who 
reads  it  a  personal  kindness ;  "  adding,  "  The  last 
two  people  I  heard  speak  of  it  were  women ;  neither 
knew  the  other,  or  the  author,  and  both  said,  by  way 
of  criticism,  '  God  bless  him  ! '  Precisely  in  the 
same  way,  it  may  here  be  said,  in  regard  to  that  first 
night  of  his  own  public  reading  of  it  in  St.  Martin's 
Hall,  that  there  was  a  genial  grasp  of  the  hand  in 
the  look  of  every  kind  face  then  turned  towards  the 


THE   READINGS   IN    ENGLAND   AND   AMERICA.      53 

platform,  and  a  "  God  bless  him  "  in  every  one  of  the 
ringing  cheers  that  accompanied  his  departure. 

A  Beading  of  the  "  Carol "  was  given  by  its  author 
in  the  following  December  down  at  Coventry,  in  aid 
of  the  funds  of  the  local  institute.  And  about  a  twelve 
month  afterwards,  on  the  4th  of  December,  1858,  in 
grateful  acknowledgment  of  what  was  regarded  in  those 
cases  always  as  a  double  benefaction  (meaning  the 
Beading  itself  and  its  golden  proceeds),  the  novelist 
was  entertained  at  a  public  banquet,  at  the  Castle 
Hotel,  Coventry,  when  a  gold  watch  was  presented  to 
him  as  a  testimonial  of  admiration  from  the  leading 
inhabitants. 

Finally,  as  the  last  of  all  these  non-professional 
readings  by  our  author,  there  was  given  on  Friday 
the  26th  of  March,  1858,  a  reading  of  the  "  Christinas 
Carol,"  in  the  Music  Hall  at  Edinburgh.  His 
.audience  consisted  of  the  members  of,  or  subscribers 
to,  the  Philosophical  Institution.  At  the  close  of 
the  evening  the  Lord  Provost,  who  had  been  pre 
siding,  presented  to  the  Reader  a  massive  and  ornate 
.silver  wassail  bowl.  Seventeen  years  prior  to  that, 
Charles  Dickens  had  been  publicly  entertained  in  Edin 
burgh, — Professor  Wilson  having  been  the  chairman 
of  the  banquet  given  then  in  his  honour.  He  had 
been  at  that  time  enrolled  a  burgess  and  guildbrother 
of  the  ancient  corporation  of  the  metropolis  of  Scot 
land.  He  had,  among  other  incidents  of  a  striking 
•character  marking  his  reception  there  at  the  same 


54  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

period,  seen,  on  his  chance  entrance  into  the  theatre, 
the  whole  audience  rise  spontaneously  in  recognition 
of  him,  the  musicians  in  the  orchestra,  with  a  courtly 
felicit}r,  striking  up  the  cavalier  air  of  "  Charley 
is  my  Darling."  If  only  out  of  a  gracious  remem 
brance  of  all  this,  it  seemed  not  inappropriate  that 
the  very  last  of  the  complimentary  readings  should 
have  been  given  by  the  novelist  at  Edinburgh,  and 
that  the  Lord  Provost  of  Edinburgh  should,  as  if  by 
wa}T  of  stirrup-cup,  have  handed  to  the  Writer  and 
Reader  of  the  "  Carol,"  that  souvenir  from  its  citizens, 
in  honour  of  the  author  himself  and  of  his  favourite 
theme,  Christmas. 

It  was  in  connection  with  the  organisation  of  the 
series  of  entertainments,  arranged  during  the  summer 
of  1857,  in  memory  of  Jerrold,  and  in  the  interests  of 
Jerrold's  family,  that  the  attention  of  Charles  Dickens- 
was  first  of  all  awakened  to  a  recognition  of  the  possi 
bility  that  he  might,  with  good  reason,  do  something* 
better  than  carry  out  his  original  intention,  that, 
namely,  of  dropping  these  Readings  altogether,  as- 
simply  exhausting  and  unremunerative.  He  had  long 
since  come  to  realise  that  it  could  in  110  conceivable 
way  whatever  derogate  from  the  dignity  of  his  position 
as  an  author,  to  appear  thus  in  various  parts  of  the 
United  Kingdom,  before  large  masses  of  his  fellow- 
countrymen,  in  the  capacity  of  a  Public  Reader. 
His  so  appearing  was  a  gratification  to  himself  as  an 
artist,  and  was  clearly  enough  also  a  gratification  to  his- 


THE    EEADINGS   IN    ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      55 

hearers,  as  appreciators  of  liis  twofold  art,  both  as 
Author  and  as  Keader.  He  perceived  clearly  enough, 
therefore,  that  his  labours  in  those  associated  capaci 
ties  were  perfectly  compatible ;  that,  in  other  words, 
he  might,  if  he  so  pleased,  quite  reasonably  accept 
the  duties  devolving  upon  him  as  a  Eeader,  as  among 
his  legitimate  avocations. 

Conspicuous  among  those  who  had  shared  in  the  get 
ting  up  of  the  Jerrold  entertainments — including  among 
them,  as  we  have  seen,  the  first  of  his  own  Readings 
in  London — the  novelist  had  especially  observed  the 
remarkable  skill  or  aptitude,  as  a  general  organiser, 
manifested  from  first  to  last  by  the  Honorary  Secretary, 
into  whose  hands,  in  point  of  fact,  had  fallen  the  re 
sponsibility  of  the  entire  management.  This  Honorary 
Secretary  was  no  other  than  Albert  Smith's  brother 
Arthur — one  who  was  not  only  the  right-hand,  as  it 
were,  of  the  Ascender  of  Mont  Blanc,  and  of  the  Tra 
veller  in  China,  but  who  (behind  the  scenes,  and  un 
known  to  the  public)  was  the  veritable  wire-puller, 
prompter,  Figaro,  factotum  of  that  farceur  among 
story-tellers,  and  of  that  laughter-moving  patterer 
among  public  entertainers.  Arthur  Smith,  full  of  re 
source,  of  contrivance,  and  of  readiness,  possessed  in 
fact  all  the  qualifications  essential  to  a  rapid  organiser. 
He  was,  of  all  men  who  could  possibly  have  been  hit 
upon,  precisely  the  very  one  to  undertake  in  regard  to  an 
elaborate  enterprise,  like  that  of  a  long  series  of  Read 
ings  in  the  metropolis,  and  of  a  comprehensive  tour 


56  CHAKLES   DICKENS   AS   A   HEADER. 

of  Headings  in  the  provinces,  the  responsible  duties  of 
its  commercial  management.  Brought  together  acci 
dentally  at  the  time  of  the  Jerrold  testimonial,  the 
Honorary  Secretary  of  the  fund  and  the  Author- 
reader  of  the  "Carol"  came,  as  it  seems  now,  quite 
naturally,  to  be  afterwards  intimately  associated  with 
one  another,  more  in  connection  with  the  scheme  of 
professional  Headings,  which  reasonably  grew  up  at 
last  out  of  the  previous  five  years'  Readings,  of  a 
purely  complimentary  character. 

Altogether,  as  has  been  said  on  an  earlier  page, 
Charles  Dickens  cannot  have  given  less  than  some 
Five  Hundred  Readings.  As  a  professional  Reader 
alone  he  gave  considerably  over  Four  Hundred. 
Beginning  in  the  spring  of  1858,  and  ending  in  the 
spring  of  1870,  his  career  in  that  capacity  extended 
at  intervals  over  a  lapse  of  twelve  years  :  those  twelve 
years  embracing  within  them  several  distinct  tours  in 
England,  Ireland,  and  Scotland,  and  in  the  United 
States ;  and  many  either  entirely  distinct  or  carefully 
interwoven  series  in  London  at  St.  Martin's  Hall, 
at  the  Hanover  Square  Rooms,  and  at  St.  James's 
Hall,  Piccadilly. 

The  first  series  in  the  metropolis,  and  the  first  tour 
in  the  United  Kingdom,  were  made  in  1858,  under 
Mr.  Arthur  Smith's  management.  The  second  pro 
vincial  tour,  partly  in  1861,  partly  in  1862,  and  two 
sets  of  readings  in  London,  one  at  the  St.  James's 
Hall  in  1862,  the  other  at  the  Hanover  Square  Rooms 


THE   HEADINGS   IN    ENGLAND   AND    AMERICA.     57 

in  1863,  took  place  under  Mr.  Thomas  Headland's 
management.  As  many  as  four  distinct,  and  all  of 
them  important  tours,  notably  one  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Atlantic,  were  carried  out  between  1866  and 
1869,  both  years  inclusive,  under  Mr.  George  Dolby's 
management.  As  showing  at  once  the  proportion  of 
the  enormous  aggregate  of  423  Headings,  with  which 
these  three  managers  were  concerned,  it  may  be  added 
here  that  while  the  first-mentioned  had  to  do  with  111, 
and  the  second  with  70,  the  third  and  last-mentioned 
had  to  do  with  as  many  as  242  altogether. 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  Thursday,  the  29th  of 
April,  1858,  that  Charles  Dickens  first  made  his 
appearance  upon  a  platform  in  a  strictly  professional 
character  as  a  public  Eeader.  Although,  hitherto, 
he  had  never  once  read  for  himself,  he  did  so  then 
avowedly — not  merely  by  printed  announcement  before 
hand,  but  on  addressing  himself  by  word  of  mouth  to 
the  immense  audience  assembled  there  in  St.  Martin's 
Hall.  The  Heading  selected  for  the  occasion  was 
"  The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth,"  but  before  its  com 
mencement,  the  author  spoke  as  follows,  doing  so  with 
well  remembered  clearness  of  articulation,  as  though 
he  were  particularly  desirous  that  every  word  should 
be  thoroughly  weighed  by  his  hearers,  and  taken  to 
heart,  by  reason  of  their  distinctly  explaining  the  rela 
tions  in  which  he  and  they  would  thenceforth  stand 
towards  each  other  : — 

"LADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN, — It    may,  perhaps,  be 


58  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

"known  to  you  that,  for  a  few  years  past  I  have  been 
' '  accustomed  occasionally  to  read  some  of  my  shorter 
"books  to  various  audiences,  in  aid  of  a  variety  of 
"  good  objects,  and  at  some  charge  to  myself  both  in 
"  time  and  money.  It  having  at  length  become  im- 
"  possible  in  any  reason  to  comply  with  these  always 
"accumulating  demands,  I  have  had  .definitely  to 
"  choose  between  now  and  then  reading  on  my  own 
"  account  as  one  of  my  recognised  occupations,  or  not 
"  reading  at  all.  I  have  had  little  or  no  difficulty  in 
"  deciding  on  the  former  course.* 

"  The  reasons  that  have  led  me  to  it — besides  the 
"  consideration  that  it  necessitates  no  departure  what- 
"  ever  from  the  chosen  pursuits  of  my  life — are  three - 
"fold.  Firstly,  I  have  satisfied  myself  that  it  can 
"  involve  no  possible  compromise  of  the  credit  and 
"independence  of  literature.  Secondly,  I  have  long 
"  held  the  opinion,  and  have  long  acted  on  the  opinion, 
"that  in  these  times  whatever  brings  a  public  man 
"  and  his  public  face  to  face,  on  terms  of  mutual  con- 
"  fidence  and  respect,  is  a  good  thing.  Thirdly,  I 
"have  had  a  pretty  large  experience  of  the  interest 
"my  hearers  are  so  generous  as  to  take  in  these  occa- 
"  sions,  and  of  the  delight  they  give  to  me,  as  a  tried 
"means  of  strengthening  those  relations,  I  may 
"  almost  say  of  personal  friendship,  which  it  is  my 
"great  privilege  and  pride,  as  it  is  my  great  respon- 
"  sibility,  to  hold  with  a  multitude  of  persons  who  will 
"never  hear  my  voice,  or  see  my  face. 


THE   HEADINGS   IN   ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      59 

"  Thus  it  is  that  I  come,  quite  naturally,  to  be  here 
"  among  you  at  this  time.  And  thus  it  is  that  I  pro- 
"  ceed  to  read  this  little  hook,  quite  as  composedly  as 
"  I  might  proceed  to  write  it,  or  to  publish  it  in  any 
"  other  way." 

Remembering  perfectly  well,  as  we  do,  the  precision 
with  which  he  uttered  every  syllable  of  this  little 
address,  and  the  unmistakable  cordiality  with  which 
its  close  was  greeted,  we  can  assert  with  confidence 
that  Header  and  Audience  from  the  very  first  instant 
stood  towards  each  other  on  terms  of  mutually  re 
spectful  consideration.  Remembering  perfectly  well, 
as  we  do,  moreover,  the  emotion  with  which  his  last 
words  were  articulated  and  listened  to  on  the  occasion 
of  his  very  last  or  Farewell  Reading  in  the  great  hall 
near  Piccadilly — and  more  than  two  thousand  others 
must  still  perfectly  well  remember  that  likewise — we 
may  no  less  confidently  assert  that  those  feelings  had 
known  no  abatement,  but  on  the  contrary  had,  during 
the  lapse  of  many  delightful  years,  come  to  be  not 
only  confirmed  but  intensified. 

Sixteen  Readings  were  comprised  in  that  first  series 
in  London,  at  St.  Martin's  Hall.  Inaugurated,  as  we 
have  seen,  on  the  29th  of  April,  1858,  the  series  was 
completed  on  the  22nd  of  the  ensuing  July.  It  may 
here  be  interesting  to  mention  that,  midway  in  the 
course  of  these  Sixteen  Readings,  he  gave  for  the  first 
time  in  London,  on  Thursday  the  10th  of  June,  "  The 
Story  of  Little  Dombey,"  and  on  the  following  Thurs- 


60  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

day,  the  17th  of  June,  also  for  the  first  time  in  London, 
"The  Poor  Traveller,"  "  Boots  at  the  Holly  Tree 
Inn,"  and  "Mrs.  Gamp."  Whatever  the  subject  of 
the  Reading,  whatever  the  state  of  the  weather,  the 
hall  was  crowded  in  every  part,  from  the  stalls  to  the 
galleries.  Eleven  days  after  the  London  season 
closed,  the  Reader  and  his  business  manager  began 
their  enormous  round  of  the  provinces. 

As  many  as  Eighty- Seven  Readings  were  given  in 
the  course  of  this  one  provincial  excursion.  The  first 
took  place  on.  Monday,  the  2nd  of  August,  at  Clifton ; 
the  last  on  Saturday,  the  13th  of  November,  at 
Brighton.  The  places  visited  in  Ireland  included 
Dublin  and  Belfast,  Cork  and  Limerick.  Those  tra 
versed  in  Scotland  comprised  Edinburgh  and  Dundee, 
Aberdeen,  Perth,  and  Glasgow.  As  for  England, 
besides  the  towns  already  named,  others  of  the  first 
importance  were  taken  in  quick  succession,  an  extra 
ordinary  amount  of  rapid  railway  travelling  being 
involved  in  the  punctual  carrying  out  of  the 
prescribed  programme.  However  different  in  their 
general  character  the  localities  might  be,  the  Readings 
somehow  appeared  to  have  some  especial  attraction 
for  each,  whether  they  were  given  in  great  manufac 
turing  towns,  like  Manchester  or  Birmingham ;  in 
fashionable  watering-places,  like  Leamington  or  Scar 
borough  ;  in  busy  outports,  like  Liverpool  or  South 
ampton  ;  in  ancient  cathedral  towns,  like  York  or 
Durham,  or  in  seaports  as  removed  from  each  other, 


THE    READINGS   IN   ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      Gl 

as  Plymouth  and  Portsmouth.  Localities  as  widely 
separated  as  Exeter  from  Harrogate,  as  Oxford  from 
Halifax,  or  as  Worcester  from  Sunderland,  were 
visited,  turn  by  turn,  at  the  particular  time  appointed. 
In  a  comprehensive  round,  embracing  within  it  Wake- 
field  and  Shrewsbury,  Nottingham  and  Leicester, 
Derby  and  Huddersfield,  the  principal  great  towns 
were  taken  one  after  another.  At  Hull  and  Leeds,  no 
less  than  at  Chester  and  Bradford,  as  large  and  enthu 
siastic  audiences  were  gathered  together  as,  in  their 
appointed  times  also  were  attracted  to  the  Readings, 
in  places  as  entirely  dissimilar  as  Newcastle  and  Dar 
lington,  or  as  Sheffield  and  "Wolverhampton. 

The  enterprise  was,  in  its  way,  wholly  unexampled. 
It  extended  over  a  period  of  more  than  three  months 
altogether.  It  brought  the  popular  author  for  the  first 
time  face  to  face  with  a  multitude  of  his  readers  in 
various  parts  of  the  three  kingdoms.  And  at  every 
place,  without  exception  throughout  the  tour,  the  ad 
venture  was  more  than  justified,  as  a  source  of  artistic 
gratification  alike  to  himself  and  to  his  hearers,  no 
less  than  as  a  purely  commercial  undertaking,  the 
project  throughout  proving  successful  for  beyond  the 
most  sanguine  anticipations.  Though  the  strain  upon 
his  energies,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  it,  was  very  con 
siderable,  the  Reader  had  brought  vividly  before  him 
in  recompense,  on  Eighty-Seven  distinct  occasions,  the 
most  startling  proofs  of  his  popularity — the  financial 
results,  besides  this,  when  all  was  over,  yielding  sub- 


62  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

stantial  evidence  of  his  having,  indeed,  won  "  golden 
opinions  "  from  all  sorts  of  people. 

His  provincial  tour,  it  has  been  seen,  closed  at 
Brighton  on  the  13th  of  November.  Immediately 
after  this,  it  was  announced  that  three  Christmas 
Headings  would  be  given  in  London  at  St.  Martin's 
Hall — the  first  and  second  on  the  Christmas  Eve  and 
the  Boxing  Day  of  1858,  those  being  respectively 
Friday  and  Monday,  and  the  third  on  Twelfth  Night, 
Thursday,  the  6th  of  January,  1859.  Upon  each  of 
these  occasions  the  "  Christinas  Carol "  and  the 
"  Trial  from  Pickwick,"  were  given  to  audiences  that 
were  literally  overflowing,  crowds  of  applicants  each 
evening  failing  to  obtain  admittance.  In  consequence 
of  this,  three  other  Readings  were  announced  for 
Thursday,  the  13th,  for  Thursday,  the  20th,  and 
for  Friday,  the  28th  of  January — the  "Carol"  and 
"  Trial"  being  fixed  for  the  last  time  on  the  13th ;  the 
Reading  on  the  second  of  these  three  supplementary 
nights  being  "  Little  Dombey  "  and  the  "  Trial  from 
Pickwick ;  "  the  last  of  the  three  including  within  it, 
besides  the  "  Trial,"  "  Mrs.  Gamp  "  and  the  "  Poor 
Traveller."  As  affording  conclusive  proof  of  the 
sustained  success  of  the  Readings  as  a  popular  en 
tertainment,  it  may  here  be  added  that  advertisements 
appeared  on  the  morrow  of  the  one  last  mentioned, 
to  the  effect  that  "  it  has  been  found  unavoidable  to 
appoint  two  more  Readings  of  the  'Christmas  Carol' 
and  the  .'  Trial  from  Pickwick '  " — those  two,  by  the 


THE    READINGS   IN   ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      63 

way,  being,  from  first  to  last,  the  most  attractive  of 
all  the  Readings.  On  Thursday,  the  3rd,  and  on 
Tuesday,  the  8th  of  February,  the  two  last  of  these 
supplementary  Readings  in  London,  the  aggregate  of 
which  had  thus  been  extended  from  Three  to  Eight, 
were  duly  delivered.  And  in  this  way  were  completed 
the  111  Readings  already  referred  to  as  having  been 
given  under  Mr.  Arthur  Smith's  management. 

Upwards  of  two  years  and  a  half  then  elapsed  with 
out  any  more  of  the  Readings  being  undertaken, 
either  in  the  provinces  or  in  the  metropolis.  During 
1860,  in  fact,  Great  Expectations  was  appearing 
from  week  to  week  in  All  the  Year  Hound.  And  it 
was  a  judicious  rule  with  our  author — broken  only 
at  the  last,  and  fatally,  at  the  very  end  of  his  two 
fold  career  as  Writer  and  as  Reader — never  to  give 
a  series  of  Readings  while  one  of  his  serial  stories 
was  being  produced.  At  length,  however,  in  the  late 
summer,  or  early  autumn  of  1861,  the  novelist  was 
sufficiently  free  from  literary  pre-occupations  for 
another  tour,  and  another  series  of  Readings  in 
London  to  be  projected.  The  arrangements  for  each 
were  sketched  out  by  Mr.  Arthur  Smith,  as  the  one 
still  entrusted  with  the  financial  management  of  the 
undertaking.  His  health,  however,  was  so  broken  by 
that  time,  that  it  soon  became  apparent  that  he  could 
not  reasonably  hope  to  superintend  in  person  the  carry 
ing  out  of  the  new  enterprise.  It  was  decided,  there 
fore,  provisionally,  that  Mr.  Headland,  who,  upon  the 


64  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   EEADER. 

former  occasion,  had  acted  with  him,  should  now,  under 
his  direction  and  as  his  representative,  undertake 
the  actual  management.  Before  the  projected  tour  of 
1861  actually  commenced,  however,  Mr.  Arthur  Smith 
had  died,  in  September.  The  simply  provisional 
arrangement  lapsed  in  consequence,  and  upon  Mr. 
Headland  himself  devolved  the  responsibility  of  carry 
ing  out  the  plans  sketched  out  b}T  his  predecessor. 

Although  about  the  same  time  that  had  been  allotted 
to  the  First  Tour,  namely  a  whole  quarter,  had  been 
set  apart  for  the  Second,  the  latter  included  within 
it  but  very  little  more  than  half  the  number  of 
Headings  given  in  the  earlier  and  more  rapid  round 
of  the  provinces.  The  Second  Tour,  in  point  of 
fact — beginning  on  Monday,  the  28th  of  October, 
1861,  at  Norwich,  and  terminating  on  Thursday,  the 
30th  of  January,  1862,  at  Chester — comprised  within 
it  Forty- Seven,  instead  of,  as  on  the  former  occasion, 
Eighty- Seven  readings  altogether.  Many  of  the 
principal  towns  and  cities  of  England,  not  visited 
during  the  more  comprehensive  sweep  made  in  1858, 
through  the  three  kingdoms,  were  now  reached — 
the  tour,  this  time,  being  restricted  within  the 
English  boundaries.  Lancaster  and  Carlisle,  for 
example,  Hastings  and  Canterbury,  Ipswich  and  Col 
chester,  were  severally  included  in  the  new  pro 
gramme.  Kesorts  of  fashion,  like  Torquay  and 
Cheltenham,  were  no  longer  overlooked.  Preston  in 
the  north,  Dover  in  the  south,  were  each  in  turn  the 


THE   HEADINGS   IN   ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.     65 

scene  of  a  Reading.  Bury  St.  Edmund's,  in  1861,  was 
reached  on  the  30th  of  October,  and  on  the  25th  of 
November  an  excursion  was  even  made  to  the  far-off 
border  town  of  Berwick-upon- Tweed.  Less  hurried 
and  less  laborious  than  the  first,  this  second  tour 
was  completed,  as  we  have  said,  at  Chester,  just  before- 
the  close  of  the  first  month  of  1862,  namely,  on  the 
30th  of  January. 

Then  came  the  turn  once  more  of  London,  where 
a  series  of  Ten  Headings  was  given  in  the  St. 
James's  Hall,  Piccadilly.  These  ten  Readings,  be 
ginning  on  Thursday/  the  13th  of  March,  were  dis-' 
tributed  over  sixteen  weeks,  ending  on  Friday,  the 
27th  of  June.  Another  metropolitan  series,  still  under 
Mr.  Headland's  management,  was  given  as  nearly  as 
possible  at  the  same  period  of  the  London  season  in 
the  following  twelvemonth.  The  Hanover  Square 
Rooms  were  the  scene  of  these  Readings  of  1863, 
which  began  on  Monday,  the  2nd  of  March,  and  ended 
on  Saturday,  the  13th  of  June,  numbering  in  all  not 
ten,  as  upon  the  last  occasion,  but  Thirteen. 

During  the  winter  of  this  year,  Two  notable 
Readings  were  given  by  the  Novelist  at  the  British 
Embassy,  in  Paris,  their  proceeds  being  devoted  to 
the  British  Charitable  Fund  in  that  capital.  These 
Readings  were  so  brilliantly  successful,  that,  by 
particular  desire,  they  were,  a  little  time  afterwards, 
supplemented  by  a  Third,  which  was  quite  as  numer 
ously  attended  as  either  of  its  predecessors.  The 


66  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

audience  upon  each  occasion,  partly  English,  partly 
French,  comprised  among  their  number  many  of 
the  most  gifted  and  distinguished  of  the  Parisians. 
These  three  entertainments  were  given  under  the 
immediate  auspices  of  the  Earl  Cowley,  then  Her 
Majesty's  ambassador  to  the  court  of  Napoleon  III. 

A  considerable  interval  now  elapsed,  extending  in 
fact  over  nearly  three  years  altogether,  before  the 
author  again  appeared  upon  the  platform  in  his  capa 
city  as  a  Reader,  either  in  London  or  in  the  Provinces. 
During  his  last  provincial  tour,  there  had  been  some 
confusion  caused  to  the  general  arrangements  by  reason 
of  the  abrupt  but  unavoidable  postponement  of  a  whole 
week's  Readings,  previously  announced  as  coining  off, 
three  of  them  at  Liverpool,  one  at  Chester,  and  two  at 
Manchester.  These  six  readings  instead,  however,  of 
duly  taking  place,  as  originally  arranged,  between  the 
16th  and  the  21st  of  December,  1861,  had  to  be  given 
four  weeks  later  on,  between  the  13th  and  the  30th  of 
the  following  January.  The  disarrangement  of  the 
programme  thus  caused  arose  simply  from  the  cir 
cumstance  of  the  wholly  unlooked-for  and  lamented 
death  of  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince  Consort.  Another  con 
fusion  in  the  carefully  prepared  plans  for  one  of  the 
London  series,  again,  had  been  caused  by  an  unexpected 
difficulty,  at  the  last  moment,  in  securing  the  great  Hall 
in  Piccadilly,  that  having  been  previously  engaged 
on  the  required  evenings  for  a  series  of  musical  enter 
tainments.  Hence  the  selection  for  that  season  of  the 


THE    READINGS   IN   ENGLAND    AND   AMERICA.      67 

Hanover  Square  Eooms,  which,  at  any  rate  for  the 
West-end  public,  could  not  but  be  preferable  to  that 
earliest  scene  of  the  London  Readings,  St.  Martin's 
Hall,  Long  Acre.  Apart  from  every  other  considera 
tion,  however,  the  Novelist's  remembrance  of  the  con 
fusions  and  disarrangements  which  had  been  incidental 
to  his  last  provincial  tour,  and  to  the  last  series  of  his 
London  Eeadings,  rather  disinclined  him  to  hasten  the 
date  of  his  re-appearance  in  his  character  as  a  public 
Reader.  As  it  happened,  besides,  after  the  summer  of 
1863,  nearly  two  years  elapsed,  between  the  May  of 
1864  and  the  November  of  1865,  during  which  he  was 
in  a  manner  precluded  from  seriously  entertaining  any 
such  project  by  the  circumstance  that  the  green 
numbers  of  "Our  Mutual  Friend"  were,  all  that 
while,  in  course  of  publication.  Even  when  that  last 
of  his  longer  serial  stories  had  been  completed,  it  is 
doubtful  whether  he  would  have  cared  to  take  upon 
himself  anew  the  irksome  stress  and  responsibility 
inseparable  from  one  of  those  doubly  laborious  under 
takings — a  lengthened  series  of  Readings  in  London, 
coupled  with,  or  rather  interwoven  with,  another 
extended  tour  through  the  provinces. 

As  it  fortunately  happened,  however,  very  soon  after 
the  completion  of  "  Our  Mutual  Friend,"  Charles 
Dickens  had  held  out  to  him  a  double  inducement  to 
undertake  once  more  the  duties  devolving  upon  him 
in  his  capacity  as  a  Reader.  The  toil  inseparable 
from  the  Readings  themselves,  as  well  as  the  fatigue 

F  2 


68  CHAKLES    DICKENS   AS    A    EEADER. 

resulting  inevitably  from  so  much  rapid  travelling 
hither  and  thither  by  railway  during  the  period 
set  apart  for  their  delivery,  would  still  be  his. 
But  at  the  least,  according  to  the  proposition  now 
made  to  him,  the  Header  would  be  relieved  from 
further  care  as  to  the  general  supervision,  and  at  any 
rate,  from  all  sense  of  responsibility  in  the  revived 
project  as  a  purely  financial  or  speculative  undertaking. 
The  Messrs.  Chappell,  of  New  Bond  Street,  a  firm 
skilled  in  the  organizing  of  public  entertainments  of 
various  kinds,  chiefly  if  not  exclusively  until  then, 
entertainments  of  a  musical  character,  offered,  in  fact, 
in  1866  to  assume  to  themselves  thenceforth  the  whole 
financial  responsibility  of  the  Headings  in  the  Metro 
polis  and  throughout  the  United  Kingdom.  According 
to  the  proposal  originally  submitted  to  the  Novelist  by 
the  Messrs.  Chappell,  and  at  once  frankly  accepted  by 
him,  a  splendid  sum  was  guaranteed  to  him  in  remune 
ration.  Twice  afterwards  those  terms  were  consider 
ably  increased, — and  upon  each  occasion,  it  should  be 
added,  quite  spontaneously. 

Another  inducement  was  held  out  to  the  Reader 
besides  that  of  his  being  relieved  from  all  further 
sense  of  responsibility  in  the  undertaking  as  a  merely 
speculative  enterprise.  It  related  to  the  chance  of 
his  finding  himself  released  also  from  any  further  sense 
of  solicitude  as  to  the  conduct  of  the  general  business 
management.  The  inducement,  here,  however,  was  of 
course  in  no  way  instantly  recognizable.  Experience 


THE    READINGS   IN   ENGLAND   AND    AMERICA.      69 

alone  could  show  the  fitness  for  his  post  of  the  Messrs. 
Chappell's  representative.  As  good  fortune  would 
have  it,  nevertheless,  here  precisely  was  an  instance 
in  which  Mr.  Layard's  famous  phrase  about  the  right 
man  in  the  right  place,  was  directly  applicable. 
As  a  thoroughly  competent  business  manager,  and  as 
one  whose  companionship  of  itself  had  a  heartening 
influence  in  the  midst  of  enormous  toil,  Mr.  Dolby 
speedily  came  to  be  recognised  as  the  very  man  for 
the  position,  as  the  very  one  who  in  all  essential 
respects  it  was  most  desirable  should  have  been 
selected. 

A  series  of  Thirty  Eeadings  was  at  once  planned 
under  his  supervision.  It  consisted  for  the  first  time 
of  a  tour  through  England  and  Scotland,  interspersed 
with  Readings  every  now  and  then  in  the  Metropolis. 
The  Reader's  course  in  this  way  seemed  to  be  erratic, 
but  the  whole  scheme  was  admirably  well  arranged 
beforehand,  and  once  entered  upon,  was  carried  out 
with  the  precision  of  clockwork.  These  thirty  Read 
ings,  in  1866,  began  and  ended  at  St.  James's  Hall, 
Piccadilly.  The  opening  night  was  that  of  Tues 
day,  the  10th  of  April,  the  closing  night  that  of 
Tuesday,  the  12th  of  June.  Between  those  dates 
half-a-dozen  other  Readings  were  given  from  the  same 
central  platform  in  London,  the  indefatigable  author 
making  his  appearance  meanwhile  alternately  in  the 
principal  cities  of  the  United  Kingdom.  Besides 
revisiting  in  this  way  (some  of  these  places  repeat- 


70  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

edly)  in  the  north,  Edinburgh  and  Glasgow  and 
Aberdeen,  in  the  south  and  south-west,  Clifton  and 
Portsmouth,  as  well  as  Liverpool  and  Manchester 
intermediately — Charles  Dickens  during  the  course  of 
this  tour  read  for  the  first  time  at  Bristol,  at  Green 
wich,  and  in  the  Crystal  Palace  at  Sydenham. 

The  inauguration  of  the  series  of  Headings  now 
referred  to  had  a  peculiar  interest  imparted  to  it  by 
the  circumstance  that,  on  the  evening  of  Tuesday, 
the  10th  of  April,  1866,  there  was  first  of  all  in 
troduced  to  public  notice  the  comic  patter  and 
pathetic  recollections  of  the  Cheap  Jack,  Doctor 
Marigold. 

Half  a  year  afterwards  a  longer  series  of  the 
Eeadings  began  under  the  organisation  of  the  Messrs. 
Chappell,  and  under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Dolby  as 
their  business  manager.  It  took  place  altogether 
under  precisely  similar  circumstances  as  the  last,  with 
this  only  difference  that  the  handsome  terms  of  re 
muneration  originally  guaranteed  to  the  author  were, 
as  already  intimated,  considerably  and  voluntarily 
increased  by  the  projectors  of  the  enterprise,  the 
pecuniary  results  of  the  first  series  having  been  so  very 
largely  beyond  their  expectations.  Fifty  Eeadings 
instead  of  thirty  were  now  arranged  for — Ireland  being 
visited  as  well  as  the  principal  towns  and  cities  of 
England  and  Scotland.  Six  Eeadings  were  given  at 
Dublin,  and  one  at  Belfast ;  four  were  given  at  Glas 
gow,  and  two  at  Edinburgh.  Bath,  for  the  first  time, 


THE   EEADINGS   IN   ENGLAND    AND   AMERICA.      71 

had  the  opportunity  of  according  a  public  welcome  to 
the  great  humorist,  some  of  the  drollest  scenes  in 
whose  earliest  masterpiece  occur  in  the  city  of 
Bladud,  as  every  true  Pickwickian  very  well  re- 
mernhers.  Then,  also,  for  the  first  time,  he  was  wel 
comed — hy  old  admirers  of  his  in  his  capacity  as  an 
author,  new  admirers  of  his  thenceforth  in  his  later 
and  minor  capacity  as  a  Eeader — at  Swansea  and  Glou 
cester,  at  Stoke  and  Blackburn,  at  Hanley  and  War- 
rington.  Tuesday,  the  15th  of  January,  1867,  was 
the  inaugural  night  of  the  series,  when  "  Barbox, 
Brothers,"  and  "  The  Boy  at  Mugby,"  were  read  for 
the  first  time  at  St.  James's  Hall,  Piccadilly.  Monday, 
the  13th  of  May,  was  the  date  of  the  last  night  of  the 
season,  which  was  brought  to  a  close  upon  the  same 
platform,  the  success  of  every  Reading,  without  excep 
tion,  both  in  London  and  in  the  provinces,  having 
been  simply  unexampled. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  that  the  notion  was  first  enter 
tained  by  the  Novelist  of  entering  upon  that  Reading 
Tour  in  America,  which  has  since  become  so  widely 
celebrated.  Overtures  had  been  made  to  him  repeat 
edly  from  the  opposite  shores  of  the  Atlantic,  with  a 
view  to  induce  him  to  give  a  course  of  Readings  in  the 
United  States.  Speculators  would  gladly,  no  doubt, 
have  availed  themselves  of  so  golden  an  opportunity 
for  turning  to  account  his  immense  reputation.  There 
were  those,  however,  at  home  here,  who  doubted  as  to 
the  advisability  of  the  author  entering,  under  any 


72  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

conceivable  circumstances,  upon  an  undertaking  ob 
viously  involving  in  its  successful  accomplishment  an 
enormous  amount  of  physical  labour  and  excitement. 
Added  to  this,  the  project  was  inseparable  in  any 
case — however  favourable  might  be  the  manner  of  its 
ultimate  arrangement — from  a  profound  sense  of  re 
sponsibility  all  through  the  period  that  would  have  to 
be  set  apart  for  its  realisation.  It  was  among  the 
more  remarkable  characteristics  of  Charles  Dickens 
that,  while  he  was  endowed  with  a  brilliant  imagina 
tion,  and  with  a  genius  in  many  ways  incomparable, 
he  was  at  the  same  time  gifted  with  the  clearest  and 
soundest  judgment,  being,  in  point  of  fact,  what  is  called 
a  thoroughly  good  man  of  business.  Often  as  he  had 
shewn  this  to  be  the  case  during  the  previous  phases 
of  his  career,  he  never  demonstrated  the  truth  of  it 
so  undeniably  as  in  the  instance  of  this  proposed 
Reading  Tour  in  the  United  States.  Determined  to 
understand  at  once  whether  the  scheme,  commended 
by  some,  denounced  by  others,  was  in  itself,  to  begin 
with,  feasable,  and  after  that  advisable,  he  despatched 
Mr.  Dolby  to  America  for  the  purpose  of  surveying 
the  proposed  scene  of  operations.  Immediately  on 
his  emissary's  return,  Dickens  drew  up  a  few  pithy 
sentences,  headed  by  him,  "  The  Case  in  a  Nutshell." 
His  decision  was  what  those  more  immediately 
about  him  had  for  some  time  anticipated.  He  made 
up  his  mind  to  go,  and  to  go  quite  independently. 
The  Messrs.  Chappell,  it  should  be  remarked  at  once, 


THE    READINGS    IN    ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      73 

had  no  part  whatever  in  the  enterprise.  The  Author- 
Eeader  accepted  for  himself  the  sole  responsibility  of 
the  undertaking.  As  a  matter  of  course,  he  retained 
Mr.  Dolby  as  his  business  manager,  despatching 
him  again  across  the  Atlantic,  when  everything  had 
been  arranged  between  them,  to  the  end  that  all 
should  be  in  readiness  by  the  time  of  his  own 
arrival. 

Within  the  brief  interval  which  then  elapsed, 
between  the  business  manager's  return  to,  and  the 
Author-Reader's  departure  for,  America,  that  well- 
remembered  Farewell  Banquet  was  given  to  Charles 
Dickens,  which  wTas  not  unworthy  of  signalising  his 
popularity  and  his  reputation.  He  himself,  upon  the 
occasion,  spoke  of  it  as  that  "proud  night,"  recognising 
clearly  enough,  as  he  could  hardly  fail  to  do,  in  the 
gathering  around  him,  there  in  Freemasons'  Hall,  on 
the  evening  of  the  2nd  of  November,  1867,  one  of 
the  most  striking  incidents  in  a  career  that  had  been 
almost  all  sunshine,  both  from  within  and  from  with 
out,  from  the  date  of  its  commencement.  It  was 
there,  in  the  midst  of  what  he  himself  referred  to, 
at  the  time,  as  that  "  brilliant  representative  com 
pany,"  while  acknowledging  the  presence  around  him 
of  so  many  of  his  brother  artists,  "  not  only  in  litera 
ture,  but  also  in  the  fine  arts,"  he  availed  himself  of 
the  opportunity  to  relate  very  briefly  the  story  of  his 
setting  out  once  more  for  America.  "  Since  I  was 
there  before,"  he  said,  "  a  vast,  entirely  new  gene- 


74  CHAKLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

ration   has    arisen    in   the    United   States.     Since    I 
was  there   before,   most  of   the    hest   known  of    my 
books  have  been  written    and   published.     The  new 
generation  and  the  books  have  come  together  and  have 
kept  together,  until  at  last  numbers  of  those  who  have 
so  widely  and  constantly  read  me,  naturally  desiring 
a  little  variety  in  the  relations  between  us,  have  ex 
pressed   a   strong    wish    that   I   should  read  myself. 
This   wish   at  last  conveyed   to   me,  through   public 
channels  and  business  channels,  has  gradually  become 
enforced  by  an  immense  accumulation  of  letters  from 
individuals  and  associations  of  individuals,  all  express 
ing  in  the  same  hearty,  homely,   cordial,   unaffected 
way  a  kind  of  personal  interest  in  me ;  I  had  almost 
said  a  kind  of  personal  affection  for  me,  which  I  am 
sure  you  will  agree  with  me,  it  would  be  dull  insensi 
bility  on  my  part  not  to  prize."     Hence,  as  he  ex 
plained,  his  setting  forth  on  that  day  week  upon  his 
second  visit  to  America,  with  a  view  among    other 
purposes,  according  to  his  own  happy  phrase,  to  use 
his  best  endeavours  "to  lay  down  a  third  cable   of 
intercommunication    and    alliance   between    the    old 
world  and  the  new."     The  illustrious  chairman  who 
presided  over  that  Farewell  Banquet,  Lord  Lytton, 
had  previously  remarked,  speaking  in  his  capacity  as 
a   politician,   "I  should  say  that  no   time  could  be 
more  happily  chosen  for  his  visit ;  "  adding,  "  because 
our   American    kinsfolk    have    conceived,  rightly  or 
wrongfully,  that  they  have  some  cause  of  complaint 


THE    READINGS    IN   ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      75 

against  ourselves,  and  out  of  all  England  we  could 
not  have  selected  an  envoy  more  calculated  to  allay 
irritation  and  to  propitiate  good  will."  As  one  whose 
cordial  genius  was,  in  truth,  a  bond  of  sympathy 
between  the  two  great  kindred  nationalities,  Charles 
Dickens  indeed  went  forth  in  one  sense  at  that  time, 
it  might  almost  have  been  said,  in  a  semi-ambassa 
dorial  character,  not  between  the  rulers,  but  between 
the  peoples.  The  incident  of  his  visit  to  America  could 
in  no  respect  be  considered  a  private  event,  but,  from 
first  to  last,  was  regarded,  and  reasonably  regarded,  as 
a  public  and  almost  as  an  international  occurrence. 
"  Happy  is  the  man,"  said  Lord  Lytton,  on  that  2nd 
of  November,  when  proposing  the  toast  of  the  evening 
in  words  of  eloquence  worthy  of  himself  and  of  his 
theme,  "  Happy  is  the  man  who  makes  clear  his  title 
deeds  to  the  royalty  of  genius,  while  he  yet  lives  to 
enjoy  the  gratitude  and  reverence  of  those  whom  he 
has  subjected  to  his  sway.  Though  it  is  by  conquest 
that  he  achieves  his  throne,  he  at  least  is  a  conqueror 
whom  the  conquered  bless,  and  the  more  despotically 
he  enthralls  the  dearer  he  becomes  to  the  hearts  of 
men."  Observing,  in  conclusion,  as  to  this  portion  of 
his  argument,  "  Seldom,  I  say,  has  that  kind  of 
royalty  been  quietly  conceded  to  any  man  of  genius 
until  his  tomb  becomes  his  throne,  and  yet  there  is 
not  one  of  us  now  present  who  thinks  it  strange  that  it 
is  granted  without  a  murmur  to  the  guest  whom  we 
receive  to-night."  As  if  in  practical  recognition  of 


76  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

the  prerogative  thus  gracefully  referred  to  by  his 
brother-author,  a  royal  saloon  carriage  on  Friday,  the 
8th  of  November,  conveyed  Charles  Dickens  from 
London  to  Liverpool.  On  the  following  morning  he 
took  his  departure  on  board  the  Cuba  for  the  United 
States,  arriving  at  Boston  on  Tuesday,  the  19th,  when 
the  laconic  message  "  Safe  and  well,"  was  flashed  home 
by  submarine  telegraph. 

The  Readings  projected  in  America  were  intended 
to  number  up  as  many  as  eighty  altogether.  They 
actually  numbered  up  exactly  Seventy- Six.  They  were 
inaugurated  by  the  first  of  the  Boston  Readings  on 
Monday,  the  2nd  of  December,  1867.  Extending 
over  an  interval  of  less  than  five  months,  they  closed  in 
Steinway  Hall  on  Monday,  the  20th  April,  1868,  with 
the  last  of  the  New  York  Readings.  From  beginning 
to  end,  the  enthusiasm  awakened  by  these  Readings 
was  entirely  unparalleled.  Simply  to  ensure  a  chance 
of  purchasing  the  tickets  of  admission,  a  queue  of 
applicants  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long  would  pass  a  whole 
winter's  night  patiently  waiting  in  sleet  and  snow,  out 
in  the  streets,  to  be  in  readiness  for  the  opening  of  the 
office-doors  when  the  sale  of  tickets  should  have  com 
menced.  Blankets  and  in  several  instances  mattresses 
were  brought  with  them  by  some  of  the  more  provident 
of  these  nocturnal  wayfarers,  many  of  whom  of  course 
were  notoriously  middle-men  who  simply  speculated, 
with  immense  profit  to  themselves,  in  selling  again  at 
enormously  advanced  prices  the  tickets  which  were 


THE    READINGS    IN    ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      77 

invariably  dispensed  -by  the  business  manager  at  the 
fixed  charges  originally  announced. 

As  curiously  illustrative  of  the  first  outburst  of  this 
enthusiasm  even  before  the  Novelist's  arrival — on  the 
very  eve  of  that  arrival,  as  it  happened — mention  may 
here  be  made  of  the  simple  facts  in  regard  to  the  sale 
of  tickets  on  Monday,  the  18th  of  November.  During 
the  whole  of  that  day,  from  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning  to  the  last  thing  at  night,  Mr.  Dolby  sat  there 
at  his  desk  in  the  Messrs.  Ticknor  and  Fields'  book 
store,  literally  doing  nothing  but  sell  tickets  as  fast  as 
he  could  distribute  them  and  take  the  money.  For 
thirteen  hours  together,  without  taking  bite  or  sup,  with 
out  ever  once  for  a  passing  moment  quitting  the  office  - 
stool  on  which  he  was  perched — fortunately  for  him 
behind  a  strong  barricade — he  answered  the  rush  of 
applicants  that  steadily  pressed  one  another  onwards 
to  the  pigeon-hole,  each  drifting  by  exhausted  when 
his  claims  were  satisfied.  The  indefatigable  manager 
took  in  moneys  paid  down  within  those  thirteen 
consecutive  hours  as  many  as  twelve  thousand 
dollars. 

During  the  five  months  of  his  stay  in  America,  four 
Eeadings  a  week  were  given  by  the  Novelist  to 
audiences  as  numerous  as  the  largest  building  in  each 
town  of  a  suitable  character  could  by  any  contrivance 
be  made  to  contain.  The  average  number  of  those  pre 
sent  upon  each  of  these  occasions  may  be  reasonably 
estimated  as  at  the  very  least  1500  individuals.  Kerneni- 


78  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   EEADER. 

bering  that  there  were  altogether  seventy-six  Readings, 
this  would  show  at  once  that  upwards  of  one  hundred 
thousand  souls  (114,000)  listened  to  the  voice  of  the 
great  Author  reading,  what  they  had  so  often  hefore 
read  themselves,  and  raising  their  own  voices  in  return 
to  greet  his  ears  with  their  ringing  acclamations.  At 
a  moderate  estimate,  again,  just  as  we  have  seen  that 
each  Eeading  represented  1500  as  the  average  number 
of  the  audience,  that  audience  represented,  in  its  turn, 
in  cash,  at  the  lowest  computation,  nett  proceeds 
amounting  to  fully  $3000.  At  Eochester,  for  ex 
ample,  in  the  State  of  New  York,  was  the  smallest 
house  anywhere  met  with  in  the  whole  course  of  these 
American  Readings,  and  even  that  yielded  $2500,  the 
largest  house  in  the  tour,  on  the  other  hand,  netting 
as  much  as  $6000  and  upwards.  Multiplying,  there 
fore,  the  reasonably-mentioned  average  of  $3000  by 
seventy-six,  as  the  aggregate  number  of  the  Readings, 
we  arrive  at  the  astounding  result  that  in  this  tour  of 
less  than  five  months  the  Author-Reader  netted  alto 
gether  the  enormous  sum  of  $228,000.  Supposing 
gold  to  have  been  then  at  par,  that  lump  sum  would 
have  represented  in  our  English  currency  what  if 
spoken  of  even  in  a  whisper  would,  according  to 
Hood's  famous  witticism,  have  represented  something 
like  "  the  roar  of  a  Forty  Thousand  Pounder  !  "  Even 
as  it  was,  then,  gold  being  at  39J  per  cent,  premium, 
with  J  per  cent,  more  deducted  on  commission — 
virtually  a  drop  of  nearly  40  per  cent,  altogether! — the 


THE    READINGS    IN   ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.      79 

result  was  the  winning  of  a  fortune  in  what,  but  for 
the  fatigue  involved  in  it,  might  have  been  regarded 
as  simply  a  holiday  excursion. 

The  fatigue  here  referred  to,  however,  must  have 
been  something  very  considerable.  Its  influence  was 
felt  all  the  more,  no  doubt,  by  reason  of  the  Novelist 
having  had  to  contend  during  upwards  of  four  hard 
winter  months,  as  he  himself  laughingly  remarked 
just  before  his  return  homewards,  with  "  what  he  had 
sometimes  been  quite  admiringly  assured,  was  a  true 
American  catarrh !  "  Nevertheless,  even  with  its  de 
pressing  and  exhausting  influence  upon  him,  he  not 
only  contrived  to  carry  out  the  project  upon  which  he 
had  adventured,  triumphantly  to  its  appointed  close, 
but  even  upon  one  of  the  most  inclement  days  of  an 
unusually  inclement  season,  namely,  on  Saturday,  the 
29th  of  February,  1868,  he  actually  took  part  as  one 
of  the  umpires  in  the  good-humoured  frolic  of  a  twelve- 
mile  walking  match,  up  hill  and  down  dale,  through 
the  snow,  on  the  Milldam  road,  between  Boston  and 
Newton,  doing  every  inch  of  the  way,  heel  and  toe, 
as  though  he  had  been  himself  one  of  the  competitors. 
The  first  six  miles  having  been  accomplished  by  the 
successful  competitor  in  one  hour  and  twenty-three 
minutes,  and  the  return  six  in  one  hour  and  twenty- 
five  minutes,  the  Novelist — although,  with  his  light, 
springy  step,  he  had  observantly  gone  the  whole  dis 
tance  himself,  as  we  have  seen,  in  his  capacity  as 
umpire,  —  presided  blithely,  in  celebration  of  this 


80  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

winter  day's  frolic,  at  a  sumptuous  little  banquet,  given 
by  him  at  the  Parker  House,  a  banquet  that  Lucullus 
would  hardly  have  disdained.  Having  appeared 
before  his  last  audience  in  America  on  the  20th  of 
April,  1868,  at  New  York,  the  Author-Realler  ad 
dressed  through  them  to  all  his  other  auditors  in 
the  United  States,  after  that  final  Beading  was 
over,  a  few  genial  and  generous  utterances  of  fare 
well.  Among  other  things,  he  said  to  them, — "  The 
relations  which  have  been  set  up  between  us,  while 
they  have  involved  for  me  something  more  than  mere 
devotion  to  a  task,  have  been  sustained  by  you  with 
the  readiest  sympathy  and  the  kindest  acknowledg 
ment.  Those  relations  must  now  be  broken  for  ever. 
Be  assured,  however,  that  you  will  not  pass  from  my 
mind.  I  shall  often  realise  you  as  I  see  you  now, 
equally  by  my  winter  fire,  and  in  the  green  English 
summer  weather.  I  shall  never  recall  you  as  a  mere 
audience,  but  rather  as  a  host  of  personal  friends, — 
and  ever  with  the  greatest  gratitude,  tenderness,  and 
consideration."  Two  days  before  that  last  of  all  these 
American  Headings,  he  had  been  entertained  at  a  public 
banquet  in  New  York,  on  the  18th  of  April,  at  Del- 
monico's.  Two  days  after  the  final  American  Reading 
and  address  of  farewell,  he  took  his  departure  from 
New  York  on  board  the  Russia,  on  Wednesday,  the 
22nd  of  April,  arriving  on  Friday,  the  1st  of  May,  at 
Liverpool. 

Scarcely  a  month  had  elapsed  after  his  return  home- 


THE    READINGS   IN    ENGLAND   AND    AMERICA.      81 

wards,  when,  the  prospective  and  definitive  close  of  the 
great  author's  career  as  a  public  Header  was  formally 
announced.  Again  the  Messrs.  Chappell,  of  New 
Bond  Street,  appeared  between  the  Novelist  and  the 
public  as  intermediaries.  They  intimated  through 
their  advertisement,  that  "  knowing  it  to  be  the 
determination  of  Mr.  Dickens  finally  to  retire  from 
public  Readings,  soon  after  his  return  from  America, 
they  (as  having  been  honoured  with  his  confidence  on 
former  occasions)  made  proposals  to  him,  while  he 
was  still  in  the  United  States  achieving  his  recent 
brilliant  successes  there,  for  a  final  farewell  series  of 
Readings  in  this  country."  They  added  that  "  their 
proposals  were  at  once  accepted  in  a  manner  highly 
gratifying  to  them ;  "  and  that  the  series,  which  would 
commence  in  the  ensuing  autumn,  would  comprehend, 
besides  London,  several  of  the  chief  towns  and  cities 
of  England,  Ireland,  and  Scotland.  Looking  back  to 
this  preliminary  advertisement  now,  there  is  a  melan 
choly  significance  in  the  emphasis  with  which  it  was 
observed — "  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add  that  any 
announcement  made  in  connection  with  these  Farewell 
Readings  will  be  strictly  adhered  to  and  considered 
final ;  and  that  on  no  consideration  whatever  will  Mr. 
Dickens  be  induced  to  appoint  an  extra  night  in  any 
place  in  which  he  shall  have  been  announced  to  read 
for  the  last  time."  According  to  promise,  in  the  au 
tumn,  these  well-remembered  Farewell  Readings  com 
menced.  They  were  intended  to  run  on  to  the  number 


82  CHAELES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

of  one  hundred  altogether.  Beginning  within  the  first 
week  of  October,  they  were  not  to  end  until  the  third 
week  of  the  ensuing  May.  As  it  happened,  Seventy- 
Four  Headings  were  given  in  place  of  the  full  hundred. 
On  Tuesday,  the  6th  of  October,  1868,  the  series  was 
commenced.  On  Thursday,  the  22nd  of  April,  1869, 
its  abrupt  termination  was  announced,  by  a  telegram 
from  Preston,  that  caused  a  pang  of  grief  and  anxiety 
to  the  vast  multitude  of  those  to  whom  the  very  name 
of  Charles  Dickens  had,  for  more  than  thirty  years, 
been  endeared.  The  intimation  conveyed  through 
that  telegram  was  the  fact  of  his  sudden  and  alarming 
illness.  Already,  in  the  two  preceding  months,  though 
the  public  generally  had  taken  no  notice  of  the  cir 
cumstance,  three  of  the  Readings  had,  for  various 
reasons,  been  unavoidably  given  up — one  at  Hull,  fixed 
for  the  12th  of  March,  and  previously  one  at  Glasgow, 
fixed  for  the  18th,  and  another  at  Edinburgh,  fixed  for 
the  19th  of  February.  Otherwise  than  in  those  three 
instances,  the  sequence  of  Readings  marked  on  the 
elaborate  programme  had  been  most  faithfully  adhered 
to ;  the  Reader,  indeed,  only  succumbing  at  last  under 
the  nervous  exhaustion  caused  by  his  own  indomitable 
perseverance. 

It  is,  now,  matter  of  all  but  absolute  certainty  that 
his  immense  energies,  his  elastic  temperament,  and 
his  splendid  constitution  had  all  of  them,  long  before 
this,  been  cruelly  overtaxed  and  overweighted.  Un 
suspected  by  any  of  us  at  the  time,  he  had,  there  can 


THE    READINGS    IN    ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.     83 

be  little  doubt  of  it,  received  the  deadliest  shock  to 
his  whole  system  as  far  back  as  on  the  9th  of  June, 
1865,  in  that  terrible  railway  accident  at  Staplehurst, 
on  the  fifth  anniversary  of  which  fatal  day,  by  a  strange 
coincidence,  he  breathed  his  last.  His  intense  vitality 
deceived  himself  and  everybody  else,  however,  until  it 
was  all  too  late.  The  extravagant  toil  he  was  going 
through  for  months  together — whirling  hither  and 
thither  in  express  trains,  for  the  purpose  of  making 
one  exciting  public  appearance  after  another,  each 
of  them  a  little  world  of  animated  impersonations — 
he  accomplished  with  such  unfailing  and  unflagging 
vivacity,  with  such  an  easy  step,  such  an  alert  carriage, 
with  such  an  animated  voice  and  glittering  eye,  that 
for  a  long  while  at  least  we  were  under  the  illusion. 
Hurrying  about  England,  Ireland,  and  Scotland  as  he 
was  during  almost  the  whole  of  the  last  quarter  of 
1868  and  during  the  whole  of  the  first  quarter  of  1869 — 
dividing  his  time  not  only  between  Liverpool  and  Man 
chester,  Edinburgh  and  Glasgow,  Dublin  and  Belfast, 
with  continual  returns  to  his  central  reading-platform 
in  the  great  Hall  near  Piccadilly,  but  visiting  after 
wards  as  well  nearly  all  the  great  manufacturing  towns 
and  nearly  all  the  fashionable  watering-places — the 
wonder  is  now  not  so  much  that  he  gave  in  at  last 
to  the  exorbitant  strain,  but  that  he  did  not  give  in 
much  sooner. 

A  single  incident  will  suffice  to  show  the  pace  at 
which  he  was  going  before  the  overwrought  system 

G   2 


CHAELES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

gave  the  first  sign  of  its  being  overwrought.  On  the 
evening  of  Thursday,  the  llth  of  March,  1869,  an 
immense  audience  crowded  the  Festival  Concert  Room 
at  York,  the  people  there  having  only  that  one  oppor 
tunity  of  attending  a  Farewell  Reading.  As  they  en 
tered  the  room,  each  person  received  a  printed  slip  of 
paper,  on  which  was  read,  "  The  audience  are  respect 
fully  informed  that  carriages  have  been  ordered  to 
night  at  half-past  nine.  Without  altering  his  Reading 
in  the  least,  Mr.  Dickens  will  shorten  his  usual  pauses 
between  the  Parts,  in  order  that  he  may  leave  York 
by  train  a  few  minutes  after  that  time.  He  has  been 
summoned,"  it  was  added,  "  to  London,  in  connection 
with  a  late  sad  occurrence  within  the  general  know 
ledge,  but  a  more  particular  reference  to  which  would 
be  out  of  place  here."  His  attendance,  in  point  of 
fact,  was  suddenly  required  at  the  funeral  of  a  dear 
friend  of  his  in  the  metropolis.  To  the  funeral  he 
had  to  go.  From  the  poignantly  irksome  duty  of  the 
Reading  he  could  not  escape.  Giving  the  latter  even 
as  proposed,  he  would  barely  have  time  to  catch  the 
up  express,  so  as  to  arrive  in  town  by  the  aid  of  rapid 
night  travelling,  and  be  true  to  the  melancholy  ren 
dezvous  at  the  scene  of  his  friend's  obsequies.  The 
Readings  that  night  were  three,  and  they  were  given 
in  rapid  succession,  the  Reader,  after  the  first  and 
second,  instead  of  withdrawing,  as  usual,  for  ten 
minutes'  rest  into  his  retiring  room  at  the  back  of  the 
platform,  merely  stepping  for  an  instant  or  two  behind 


THE    READINGS    IN    ENGLAND   AND    AMERICA.      85 

the  screen  at  the  side  of  the  platform,  putting  .his  lips 
to  some  iced  champagne,  and  stepping  back  at  once  to 
the  reading-desk.  The  selected  Readings  were  these— 
*"  Boots  at  the  Holly-Tree  Inn,"  the  murder  scene  of 
"  Sikes  and  Nancy,"  and  the  grotesque  monologue  of 
"  Mrs.  Gamp."  The  Archbishop  and  the  other  prin 
cipal  people  of  York  were  there  conspicuously  noticeable 
in  the  stalls,  eagerly  listening  and  keenly  observant, 
•evidently  in  rapt  attention  throughout  the  evening,  but 
more  especially  during  the  powerfully  acted  tragic  inci 
dent  from  "  Oliver  Twist."  The  Reading,  as  a  whole, 
was  more  than  ordinarily  successful — parts  of  it  were 
-exceptionally  impressive.  Directly  it  was  over,  the 
Reader,  having  had  a  coupe  previously  secured  for  his 
accommodation  in  the  express,  was  just  barely  enabled, 
.at  a  rush,  to  catch  the  train  an  instant  or  so  before  its 
starting.  Then  only,  after  it  had  started,  could  he 
•give  a  thought  to  his  dress,  changing  his  clothes  and 
snatching  a  morsel  of  supper  in  the  railway  carriage  as 
he  whirled  on  towards  London.  The  occasion  referred 
to  serves,  at  any  rate,  to  illustrate  the  wear  and  tear 
to  which  the  Author  had  rendered  himself,  through 
•these  Readings,  more  or  less  continually  liable. 

The  jeopardy  in  which  it  placed  his  life  at  last  was 
.alarmingly  indicated  by  the  peremptory  order  of  his 
medical  adviser,  Mr.  Frank  Beard,  of  Welbeck  Street — 
immediately  on  his  arrival  in  Preston  on  the  22nd  of 
April,  in  answer  to  a  telegram  summoning  him  thither 
upon  the  instant  from  London — that  the  Readings 


H6  CHAELES   DICKENS   AH   A   READER. 

must  be  stopped  then  and  thenceforth.  When  this 
happened,  a  fortnight  had  not  elapsed  after  the  grand 
Banquet  given  in  honour  of  Charles  Dickens  at  St. 
George's  Hall,  in  Liverpool.  As  the  guest  of  the 
evening,  he  had,  there  and  then,  been  "  cheered  to  the 
echo  "  by  seven  hundred  enthusiastic  admirers  of  his, 
presided  over  by  the  Mayor  of  Liverpool.  That  was 
on  Saturday,  the  10th  of  April,  during  a  fortnight's 
blissful  rest  in  the  whirling  round  of  the  Readings. 
Immediately  that  fortnight  was  over,  the  whirling 
round  began  again  its  momentarily  interrupted  gyra 
tions.  Three  days  in  succession  there  was  a  Reading 
at  Leeds — on  Thursday,  the  15th,  Friday,  the  16th, 
and  Saturday,  the  17th  of  April.  On  Monday,  the 
19th,  there  was  a  Reading  at  Blackburn ;  on  Tuesday, 
the  20th,  another  at  Bolton  ;  on  Wednesday,  the  21st, 
another  at  Southport.  Then  came  the  morning  of  the 
22nd,  on  the  evening  of  which  Thursday  he  was  to- 
have  read  at  Preston.  By  the  time  Dickens's  medical 
adviser  had  arrived  from  London,  the  audience  had 
already  begun  assembling.  Thereupon,  not  only  was  that 
particular  Reading  prohibited,  but,  by  the  same  wise 
mandate,  all  thought  of  resuming  the  course,  or  even 
a  portion  of  it,  afterwards,  was  as  peremptorily  inter 
dicted.  In  one  sense,  it  is  only  matter  for  wistful 
regret,  now,  that  that  judicious  interdict  was  so  far 
removed,  three-quarters  of  a  year  afterwards,  that  the 
twelve  Final  Readings  of  Farewell  which  were  given  at 
the  St.  James'  Hall  in  the  spring  of  1870,  beginning 


THE    READINGS   IN   ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA.     87 

on  Tuesday,  the  lltli  of  January,  and  ending  on 
Tuesday,  the  15th  of  March,  were  assented  to  as  in 
any  way  reasonable. 

That  even  these  involved  an  enormous  strain  upon 
the  system,  was  proved  to  absolute  demonstration  by 
the  statistics  jotted  down  with  the  utmost  precision 
during  the  Readings,  as  to  the  fluctuations  of  the 
Reader's  pulse  immediately  before  and  immediately 
after  each  of  his  appearances  upon  the  platform,  mostly 
two,  but  often  three,  appearances  in  a  single  evening. 
The  acceleration  of  his  pulse  has,  to  our  knowledge, 
upon  some  of  these  occasions  been  something  extra 
ordinary.  Upon  the  occasion  of  his  last  and  grandest 
Reading  of  the  Murder,  for  example,  as  he  stepped 
upon  the  platform,  resolved,  apparently,  upon  out 
doing  himself,  he  remarked,  in  a  half-whisper  to  the 
present  writer,  just  before  advancing  from  the  cover  of 
the  screen  to  the  familiar  reading-desk,  "  I  shall  tear 
myself  to  pieces."  He  certainly  never  acted  with  more 
impassioned  earnestness — though  never  once,  for  a 
single  instant,  however,  overstepping  the  boundaries 
of  nature.  His  pulse  just  before  had  been  tested,  as 
usual,  keenly  and  carefully,  by  his  most  sedulous  and 
sympathetic  medical  attendant.  It  was  counted  by 
him  just  as  keenly  and  carefully  directly  afterwards — 
the  rise  then  apparent  being  something  startling, 
almost  alarming,  as  it  seemed  to  us  under  the  circum 
stances. 

Those  twelve  Farewell  Readings  are  all  the  more  to 


88  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

be  regretted  now  when  we  come  to  look  back  at  them, 
on  our  recalling  to  remembrance  the  fact  that  then, 
for  the  first  time  since  he  assumed  to  himself  the  po 
sition  of  a  Public  Reader  professionally,  Dickens  con 
sented  to  give  a  series  of  Headings  at  the  very  period 
when  he  was  producing  one  of  his  imaginative  works 
in  monthly  instalments.  He  appeared  to  give  himself 
no  rest  whatever,  when  repose,  at  any  rate  for  a  while, 
was  most  urgently  required.  He  seemed  to  have 
become  his  own  taskmaster  precisely  at  the  time 
when  he  ought  to  have  taken  the  repose  he  had 
long  previously  earned,  by  ministering  so  largely  and 
laboriously  to  the  world's  enjoyment. 

Summing  up  in  a  few  words  what  has  already  been 
related  in  detail,  one  passing  sentence  may  here  recall 
to  recollection  the  fact,  that  in  addition  to  the  various 
works  produced  by  the  Novelist  during  the  last  three 
lustres  of  his  energetic  life  as  a  man  of  letters,  he  had 
personally,  within  that  busy  interval  of  fifteen  years, 
given  in  round  numbers  at  a  moderate  computation 
some  500  of  these  Public  Readings — 423  in  a  strictly 
professional  capacity,  the  rest,  prior  to  1858,  purely 
out  of  motives  of  generosity,  in  his  character  as  a 
practical  philanthropist.  In  doing  this  he  had  ad 
dressed  as  many  as  five  hundred  enormous  audiences, 
whose  rapt  attention  he  had  always  secured,  and  who 
had  one  and  all  of  them,  without  exception,  welcomed 
his  coming  and  going  with  enthusiasm.  During  this 
period  he  had  travelled  over  many  thousands  of  miles, 


THE    READINGS    IN   ENGLAND    AND   AMERICA.     89 

by  railway  and  steam -packet.  In  a  single  tour,  that 
of  the  winter  of  1867  and  1868,  in  America,  he  had 
appeared  before  upwards  of  100,000  persons,  earning, 
at  the  same  time,  over  200,000  dollars  within  an  in 
terval  of  very  little  more  than  four  months  altogether. 

Later  on,  the  circumstances  surrounding  the  imme 
diate  close  of  this  portion  of  the  popular  author's 
life,  as  a  Public  Reader  of  his  own  works,  will  be  de 
scribed  when  mention  is  made  of  his  final  appearance 
in  St.  James's  Hall,  on  the  night  of  his  Farewell 
Reading.  Before  any  particular  reference  is  made, 
however,  to  that  last  evening,  it  may  be  advisable,  as 
tending  to  make  this  record  more  complete,  that  there 
should  now  be  briefly  passed  in  review,  one  after 
another,  those  minor  stories,  and  fragments  of  the 
larger  stories,  the  simple  recounting  of  which  by  his 
own  lips  yielded  so  much  artistic  delight  to  a  great 
multitude  of  his  contemporaries.  Whatever  may  thus 
be  remarked  in  regard  to  these  Readings  will  be  written 
at  least  from  a  vivid  personal  recollection ;  the  writer, 
throughout,  speaking,  as  before  observed,  from  his 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  whole  of  this  protracted 
episode  in  the  life  of  the  Novelist. 

Whatever  aid  to  the  memory  besides  might  have 
been  thought  desirable,  he  has  had  ready  to  hand  all 
through,  in  the  marked  copies  of  the  very  books  from 
which  the  author  read  upon  these  occasions,  or  from 
which,  at  the  least,  he  had  the  appearance  of  reading. 
For,  especially  towards  the  last,  Charles  Dickens  hardly 


90  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    READEE. 

ever  glanced,  even  momentarily,  at  the  printed  pages,, 
simply  turning  the  leaves  mechanically  as  they  lay 
open  before  him  on  the  picturesque  little  reading-desk. 
Besides  the  Sixteen  Readings  actually  given,  there 
were  Four  others  which  were  so  far  meditated  that  they 
were  printed  separately  as  "  Readings,"  though  the 
reading  copies  of  them  that  have  been  preserved,  were 
never  otherwise  prepared  by  their  author-compiler  for 
representation.  One  of  these  the  writer  remembers 
suggesting  to  the  Novelist,  as  a  characteristic  com 
panion  or  contrast  to  Dr.  Marigold, — meaning  "  Mrs. 
Lirriper."  Another,  strange  to  sa}^, — about  the  least 
likely  of  all  his  stories  one  would  have  thought  to 
have  been  thus  selected, — was  "  The  Haunted  Man." 
A  third  was  "  The  Prisoner  of  the  Bastile,"  which 
would,  for  certain,  have  been  one  of  Dickens's  most 
powerful  delineations.  The  fourth,  if  only  in  remem 
brance  of  the  Old  Bailey  attorne}T,  Mr.  Jaggers,  of  the 
convict  Magwitch,  and  of  Joe  the  blacksmith,  the 
majority  would  probably  have  been  disposed  to  regret 
almost  more  than  Mrs.  Lirriper.  Though  the  lodging- 
house  keeper  would  have  been  welcome,  too,  for  her 
own  sake,  as  who  will  not  agree  in  saying,  if  merely 
out  of  a  remembrance  of  the  "trembling  lip  "  put  up 
towards  her  face,  speaking  of  which  the  good  motherly 
old  soul  exclaims,  "  and  I  dearly  kissed  it;  "  or,  bear 
ing  in  mind,  another  while,  her  preposterous  remi 
niscence  of  the  "  impertinent  little  cock-sparrow  of  a 
monkey  whistling  with  dirty  shoes  on  the  clean  steps, 


THE    HEADINGS   IN    ENGLAND    AND   AMERICA.     91 

and  playing  the  harp  on  the  area  railings  with  a  hoop- 
stick."  Actually  given  or  only  meditated,  the  whole  of 
these  twenty  Readings — meaning  the  entire  collection 
of  the  identical  marked  copies  used  by  the  Novelist 
himself  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic — have,  for  the 
verification  of  this  retrospect,  been  placed  for  the 
time  being  in  the  writer's  possession.  Selecting  from 
among  them  those  merely  which  are  familiar  to  the 
public,  from  their  having  been  actually  produced,  he 
here  proposes  cursorily  to  glance  one  by  one  through 
the  well-known  series  of  Sixteen. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


IT  can  hardly  be  any  matter  for  wonder  that 
the  "  Christmas  Carol "  was,  among  all  the  Read- 
ings,  the  author's  own  especial  favourite !  That  it 
was  so,  he  showed  from  first  to  last  unmistake- 
ably.  He  began  with  it  in  1853,  and  ended  with 
it  in  1870,  upon  the  latter  occasion  appending  to 
the  long  since  abbreviated  narrative,  that  other 
incomparable  evidence  of  his  powers  as  a  humorist, 
"The  Trial  from  Pickwick."  Whoever  went  for 
the  first  time  to  see  and  hear  Charles  Dickens  read 
one  or  other  of  his  writings,  did  well  in  selecting  a 
night  when  he  was  going  to  relate  his  immortal  ghost 
story  of  Christmas.  In  compliance  with  the  well- 
known  wish  of  the  Novelist,  the  audience,  as  a  rule, 
contrived  to  assemble  and  to  have  actually  taken  their 
places  several  minutes  before  the  time  fixed  for  the 
Reader's  appearance  upon  the  platform.  Occasionally 
it  happened,  nevertheless,  that  a  stray  couple  or  so 
would  be  still  drifting  in,  here  and  there,  among  the 
serried  ranks  of  the  stalls,  when,  book  in  hand,  with  a 
light  step,  a  smile  on  his  face,  and  a  flower  in  his 
button-hole,  the  author  had  already  rapidly  advanced 


THE   CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  93- 

and  taken  his  place  before  his  quaintly  constructed  but 
graceful  little  reading-desk.  Then  it  was,  perhaps, 
at  those  very  times,  that  a  stranger  to  the  whole  scene 
regarded  himself  almost  as  under  a  personal  obligation 
to  these  vexatious  stragglers.  For,  until  every  one  of 
them  had  quietly  settled  down,  there  stood  the  Novelist, 
cheerfully,  patiently,  glancing  to  the  right  and  to  the 
left,  taking  the  bearings  of  his  night's  company,  as  one 
might  sajr,  with  an  air  of  the  most  perfect  ease  and 
self-possession.  Whosoever,  consequently,  was  in  at 
tendance  there  for  the  first  time,  had  an  opportunity, 
during  any  such  momentary  pause,  of  familiarising  him 
self  with  the  appearance  of  the  famous  writer,  with  whose 
books  he  had  probably  been  intimately  acquainted  for 
years  upon  years  previously,  but  whom  until  then  he 
had  never  had  the  chance  of  beholding  face  to  face. 

Everyone,  even  to  the  illiterate  wayfarers  in  the 
public  streets,  had,  to  a  certain  extent,  long  since 
come  to  know  what  manner  of  man  Charles  Dickens 
was  by  means  of  his  widely-scattered  photographs. 
But,  there,  better  than  any  photograph,  was  the  man 
himself, — the  master  of  all  English  humorists,  the 
most  popular  author  during  his  own  lifetime  that  ever 
existed;  one  whose  stories  for  thirty  years  together 
had  been  read  with  tears  and  with  laughter,  and  whose 
books  had  won  for  him  personal  affection,  as  well  as 
fame  and  fortune.  Anyone  seeing  him  at  those 
moments  for  the  first  time,  would  unquestionably 
think — How  like  he  was  to  a  very  few  indeed,  how 


94  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    HEADER. 

utterly  unlike  the  vast  majority  of  liis  countless 
cartes-de-visites  !  To  the  last  there  was  the  bright, 
animated,  alert  carriage  of  the  head — phrenologically 
a  noble  head — physiognomically  a  noble  countenance. 
Encountering  him  within  a  veiy  few  weeks  of  his  death, 
Mr.  Arthur  Locker  has  said,  "  I  was  especially  struck 
with  the  brilliancy  and  vivacity  of  his  eyes  :  "  adding, 
"  there  seemed  as  much  life  and  animation  in  them  as 
in  twenty  ordinary  pairs  of  eyes."  Another  keen 
observer,  Mr.  Arthur  Helps,  has  in  the  same  spirit 
exclaimed,  "  What  portrait  can  do  justice  to  the 
frankness,  kindness,  and  power  of  his  eyes?"  None 
certainly  that  ever  was  painted  by  the  pencil  of  the 
sunbeam,  or  by  the  brush  of  a  Eoyal  Academician. 
Fully  to  realise  the  capacity  for  indicating  emotion 
latent  in  them,  and  informing  his  whole  frame — his 
hands  for  example,  in  their  every  movement,  being 
wonderfully  expressive  —  those  who  attended  these 
Headings  soon  came  to  know,  that  you  had  but  to 
listen  to  his  variable  and  profoundly  sympathetic  voice, 
and  to  watch  the  play  of  his  handsome  features. 

The  different  original  characters  introduced  in  his 
stories,  when  he  read  them,  he  did  not  simply  describe, 
he  impersonated :  otherwise  to  put  it,  for  whomsoever 
he  spoke,  he  spoke  in  character.  Thus,  when  every 
thing  was  quiet  in  the  crowded  assembly,  and  when 
the  ringing  applause  that  always  welcomed  his  appear 
ance,  but  which  he  never  by  any  chance  acknowledged, 
had  subsided — when  he  began:  "A  Christmas  Carol, 


THE    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  95 

in  four  staves.  Stave  one,  Marley's  Gliost.  Marley 
was  dead  to  begin  with."  Having  remarked,  yet  fur 
ther,  that  "  there  was  no  doubt  whatever  about  that," 
the  register  of  his  burial  being  signed  by  this  function 
ary,  that  and  the  other — when  he  added,  "  Scrooge 
•signed  it ;  and  Scrooge's  name  was  good  upon  'Change 
for  anything  he  chose  to  put  his  hand  to  " — Scrooge 
in  the  flesh  was,  through  the  very  manner  of  the 
utterance  of  his  name,  brought  vividly  and  upon  the 
instant  before  the  observant  listener.  "  Oh !  but  he 
was  a  tight-fisted  hand  at  the  grindstone,  was  Scrooge ! " 
That  we  knew  instinctively,  without  there  being  any 
need  whatever  for  our  hearing  one  syllable  of  the  de 
scription  of  him,  admirably  given  in  the  book,  but 
suppressed  in  the  Reading,  judiciously  suppressed 
enough,  because,  for  that  matter,  we  saw  and  heard  it 
without  any  necessity  for  its  being  explained.  As  one 
might  say — quoting  here  a  single  morsel  from  the 
animated  description  of  Scrooge,  that  was  actually 
illustrated  by  Scrooge's  impersonator — it  all  "  spoke 
•out  shrewdly  in  his  grating  voice  !  "  And  it  was  thus, 
not  merely  with  regard  to  the  leading  personages  of 
the  little  acted  drama,  as,  turn  by  turn,  they  were 
introduced ;  precisely  the  same  artistic  care  was  applied 
by  the  impersonating  realist  to  the  very  least  among 
the  minor  characters,  filling  in,  so  to  speak,  little 
incidental  gaps  in  the  background.  A  great  fat  man 
with  a  monstrous  chin,  for  example,  was  introduced 
just  momentarily  in  the  briefest  street-dialogue,  to- 


96  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

wards  the  close  of  this  very  Reading,  who  had  only  to 
open  his  lips  once  or  twice  for  an  instant,  yet  whose 
individuality  was  in  that  instant  or  two  so  thoroughly 
realised,  that  he  lives  ever  since  then  in  the  hearers' 
remembrance.  When,  in  reply  to  some  one's  inquiry, 
as  to  what  was  the  cause  of  Scrooge's  (presumed) 
death  ? — this  great  fat  man  with  the  monstrous  chin 
answered,  with  a  yawn,  in  two  words,  "  God  knows !  "" 
—he  was  before  us  there,  as  real  as  life,  as  selfish,  and 
as  substantial.  So  was  it  also  with  the  grey-haired 
rascal,  Joe,  of  the  rag-and-bottle  shop ;  with  Topper, 
when  he  pronounced  himself,  as  a  bachelor,  to  be  "a 
wretched  outcast;"  with  the  Schoolmaster,  when  he 
"  glared  on  Master  Scrooge  with  ferocious  condescen 
sion,  and  threw  him  into  a  dreadful  state  of  mind  by 
shaking  hands  with  him,"  all  of  whom  were  indicated 
by  the  merest  touch  or  two,  and  yet  each  of  whom  was 
a  living  and  breathing  and  speaking  verisimilitude. 

There  was  produced,  to  begin  with,  however,  a  sense 
of  exhilaration  in  the  very  manner  with  which  Dickens 
commenced  the  Reading  of  one  of  his  stories,  and 
which  was  always  especially  noticeable  in  the  instance 
of  this  particular  ghost  story  of  his  about  Christmas. 
The  opening  sentences  were  alwa}rs  given  in  those 
cheery,  comfortable  tones,  indicative  of  a  double  relish 
on  the  part  of  a  narrator — to  wit,  his  own  enjoyment  of 
the  tale  he  is  going  to  relate,  and  his  anticipation  of 
the  enjoyment  of  it  by  those  who  are  giving  him  their 
attention.  Occasionally,  at  any  rate  during  the  last 


THE    CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  97 

few  years,  his  voice  was  husky  just  at  the  commence 
ment,  but  as  he  warmed  to  his  work,  with  him  at  all 
times  a  genuine  labour  of  love,  everything  of  that  kind 
disappeared  almost  at  the  first  turn  of  the  leaf.  The 
genial  inflections  of  the  voice,  curiously  rising,  in  those 
first  moments  of  the  Beading,  at  the  end  of  every  sen 
tence,  there  was  simply  no  resisting.  Had  there  been 
a  wedding  guest  present,  he  would  hardly  have  re 
pined  in  not  being  able  to  obey  the  summons  of  the 
loud  bassoon.  The  narrator  had  his  will  with  one 
and  all.  However  large  and  however  miscellaneous 
the  audience,  from  the  front  of  the  stalls  to  the  back 
of  the  gallery,  every  one  listened  to  the  familiar  words 
that  fell  from  his  lips,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end, 
with  unflagging  attention.  There  could  be  small  room 
for  marvel  at  this,  however,  in  the  instance  of  the 
41  Carol,"  on  first  reading  which,  Thackeray  spoke  of 
its  author  as  that  "  delightful  genius  !  "  The  Edin 
burgh  editor,  Lord  Jeffrey,  at  the  very  same  time, 
namely,  towards  the  close  of  1843,  on  the  morrow  of 
the  little  book's  original  publication,  avowing,  in  no  less 
glowing  terms,  that  he  had  been  nothing  less  than 
•charmed  by  the  exquisite  apologue  :  "  chiefly,"  as  he 
declared,  "  for  the  genuine  goodness  which  breathes 
all  through  it,  and  is  the  true  inspiring  angel  by  which 
its  genius  has  been  awakened."  Never  since  he  had 
first — and  that  but  a  very  few  years  previously — taken 
pen  in  hand  as  a  story-teller,  had  this  "  delightful 
genius "  sat  down  in  a  happier  vein  for  writing  any- 

H 


98  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

tiling,  than  when  he  did  so  for  the  purpose  of  recount 
ing  how  Scrooge  was  converted,  by  a  series  of  ghostly 
apparitions,  from  the  error  of  his  utterly  selfish  way 
in  life,  until  then,  as  a  tough-skinned,  ingrained  cur 
mudgeon. 

Characters  and  incidents,  brought  before  us  anew 
in  the  Reading,  were  all  so  cordially  welcomed, — the 
former  being  such  old  friends,  the  latter  so  familiarly 
within  our  knowledge  !  Insomuch  that  many  passages 
were,  almost  word  for  word,  remembered  by  those  who, 
nevertheless,  listened  as  if  curious  to  learn  what  might 
follow,  yet  who  could  readily,  any  one  of  them,  have 
prompted  the  Reader,  that  is  the  Author  himself,  sup 
posing  by  some  rare  chance  he  had  happened,  just  for 
one  moment,  to  be  at  fault.  It  is  curious  to  observe,  on 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  marked  copy  of  this 
Reading,  the  sententious  little  marginal  notes  for  his 
own  guidance,  jotted  down  by  the  hand  of  this  won 
derful  master  of  elocutionaiy  effect.  "Narrative"  is 
written  on  the  side  of  p.  5  where  Scrooge's  office,  on 
Christmas  Eve,  is  described,  just  before  mention  is 
made  of  the  Clerk's  dismal  little  cell  seeming  to  be  "a 
sort  of  tank,"  and  of  his  fire  being  so  small  that  it 
looked  like  "  one  coal,"  and  of  his  trying  at  last  to 
warm  himself  by  the  candle,  "  in  which  effort,  not 
being  a  man  of  strong  imagination,  he  failed."  Again, 
"Cheerful"  is  penned  on  the  side  of  p.  6,  where 
Scrooge's  Nephew  comes  in  at  a  burst  with  "A  Merry 
Christinas,  uncle  !  God  save  you !  " 


THE    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  99 

After  Scrooge's  inhuman  retort  of  "  Bah !  hum 
bug!"  not  a  word  was  added  of  the  descriptive 
sentence  immediately  following.  Admirable  though 
every  word  of  it  is,  however,  one  could  hardly  regret 
its  suppression.  Is  it  asked  why  ?  Well  then,  for 
this  simple  reason  —  the  force  of  which  will  be 
admitted  by  anyone  who  ever  had  the  happiness  of 
grasping  Charles  Dickens's  hand  in  friendship — that 
his  description  of  Scrooge's  Nephew  was,  quite  uncon 
sciously  but  most  accurately,  in  every  word  of  it,  a 
literal  description  of  himself,  just  as  he  looked  upon  any 
day  in  the  blithest  of  all  seasons,  after  a  brisk  walk  in 
the  wintry  streets  or  on  the  snowy  high  road.  "  He 
had  so  heated  himself  with  rapid  walking  in  the  fog  and 
frost,  this  Nephew  of  Scrooge's,  that  he  was  all  in  a 
glow ;  his  face  was  ruddy  and  handsome ;  his  eyes 
sparkled,  and  his  breath  smoked  again."  The 
Novelist  himself  was  depicted  there  to  a  nicety. 
No  need,  therefore,  was  there  for  even  one  syllable 
of  this  in  the  Eeading.  Scrooge's  Nephew  was  visibly 
before  us,  without  a  word  being  uttered. 

To  our  thinking,  it  has  always  seemed  as  if  the  one 
chink  through  which  Scrooge's  sympathies  are  got  at 
and  his  heart-strings  are  eventually  touched,  is  discern- 
able  in  his  keen  sense  of  humour  from  the  very  outset. 
It  is  precisely  through  this  that  there  seems  hope,  from 
the  very  beginning,  of  his  proving  to  be  made  of  "pene 
trable  stuff."  "When,  after  his  monstrous  "  Out  upon 
merry  Christmas!"  he  goes  on  to  say,  "If  I  had  my  will 


100  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

every  idiot  who  goes  about  with  (  merry  Christmas '  on 
his  lips  should  be  boiled  with  his  own  pudding  and 
buried  with  a  stake  of  holly  in  his  heart :  he  should !" 
one  almost  feels  as  if  he  were  laughing  in  his  sleeve  from 
the  very  commencement.  Instance,  as  yet  more  strik 
ingly  to  the  point  in  respect  to  what  we  are  here  main 
taining,  the  wonderfully  comic  effect  of  the  bantering 
remarks  addressed  by  him  to  the  Ghost  of  Jacob  Marley 
all  through  their  confabulation,  even  when  the  spectre's 
voice,  as  we  are  told,  was  disturbing  the  very  marrow 
in  his  bones.  True,  it  is  there  stated  that,  all  through 
that  portentous  dialogue,  he  was  only  trying  to  be 
smart  "as  a  means  of  distracting  his  own  attention." 
But  the  jests  themselves  are  too  delicious,  one  would 
say,  for  mere  make-believes.  Besides  which,  hear  his 
laugh  at  the  end  of  the  book !  Hardly  that  of  one  really 
so  long  out  of  practice — "  a  splendid  laugh,  a  most  illus 
trious  laugh,  the  father  of  a  long,  long  line  of  brilliant 
laughs ! "  A  laugh,  one  might  suppose,  as  contagious  as 
that  of  his  own  Nephew  when  he  was  "so  inexpressibly 
tickled  that  he  was  obliged  to  get  up  off  the  sofa  and 
stamp  !  "  Speaking  of  which  our  author  writes  so 
delectably,  "  If  you  should  happen  by  any  unlikely 
chance  to  know  a  man  more  blest  in  a  laugh  than 
Scrooge's  Nephew,  all  I  can  say  is,  I  should  like  to 
know  him  too.  Introduce  him  to  me,  and  I'll  cultivate 
his  acquaintance."  At  which  challenge  one  might 
almost  have  been  tempted  anticipatively  to  say  at  a 
venture — Scrooge  !  Good-humoured  argument  apart, 


THE    CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

however,  what  creatures  were  those  who,  one  by 
one — sometimes,  it  almost  seemed,  two  or  three 
of  them  together — appeared  and  disappeared  upon 
the  platform,  at  the  Reader's  own  good-will  and 
pleasure ! 

After  Scrooge's  "  Good  afternoon  !  " — delivered  with 
irresistibly  ludicrous  iteration — we   caught  something- 
more  than  a  distant  glimpse  of  the  Clerk  in  the  tank, 
when — on    Scrooge's    surly   interrogation,  if  he   will 
want  all  day  to-morrow  ? — the  Reader  replied  in  the 
thinnest  and  meekest  of  frightened  voices,  "  If  quite 
convenient,  sir  !  "     It  brought  into  full  view  instanta 
neously,  and  for  the  first  time,  the  little  Clerk  whom 
one   followed  in  imagination  with  interest  a  minute 
afterwards  on  his  "  going  down  a  slide  at  the  end  of  a 
lane  of  boys  twenty  times  in  honour  of  Christmas,  and 
then,  with  the  long  ends  of  his  white  comforter  dang 
ling   below    his   waist   (for  he  boasted  no  greatcoat) 
running  home  as  hard  as  he  could  pelt  to  play  at  blind 
man's  buff."    Instantly,  upon  the  heels  of  this,  we  find 
noted  on  the  margin,  p.  18,  "  Tone  to  mystery."     The 
spectral  illusion  of  the  knocker  on   Scrooge's  house- 
door,  looking  for  all  the  world  not  like  a  knocker,  but 
like  Marley's   face,  "  with  a    dismal   light    about    it 
like  a  bad  lobster  in  a  dark  cellar,"  prepared  the  way 
marvellously  for   what    followed.      Numberless   little 
tid-bits  of  description  that  anybody  else  would  have 
struck  out  with  reluctance,  as,  for  instance,  that  of 
Scrooge    looking   cautiously  behind    the    street  door 


DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

when  he  entered,  "  as  if  he  half  expected  to  be  terrified 
with  the  sight  of  Marley's  pigtail  sticking  out  into  the 
hall,"  were  unhesitatingly  erased  by  the  Eeader,  as, 
from  his  point  of  view,  not  necessarily  to  the  purpose. 
Then,  after  the  goblin  incident  of  the  disused  bell  slowly 
oscillating  until  it  and  all  the  other  bells  in  the  house 
rang  loudly  for  a  while — afterwards  becoming  in  turn 
just  as  suddenly  hushed — we  got  to  the  clanking 
approach,  from  the  sub-basement  of  the  old  building, 
of  the  noise  that  at  length  came  on  through  the 
heavy  door  of  Scrooge's  apartment !  "  And  " — as  the 
Header  said  with  startling  effect,  while  his  voice  rose 
to  a  hurried  outcry  as  he  uttered  the  closing  exclama 
tion — "  upon  its  coming  in,  the  dying  flame  leaped  up, 
as  though  it  cried,  '  /  know  him  !  Marley's  Ghost  f  ' 
The  apparition,  although  the  description  of  it  was 
nearly  stenographically  abbreviated  in  the  Heading, 
appeared  to  be,  in  a  very  few  words,  no  less  startlingly 
realised.  "  Same  face,  usual  waistcoat,  tights,  boots," 
even  to  the  spectral  illusion  being  so  transparent  that 
Scrooge  (his  own  marrow,  then,  we  may  presume, 
becoming  sensitized)  looking  through  his  waistcoat 
"  could  see  the  two  back  buttons  on  the  coat  behind  " 
— with  the  incorrigible  old  joker's  cynical  reflection  to 
himself  that  "  he  had  often  heard  Marley  spoken  of  as 
having  no  bowels,  but  had  never  believed  it  until  then." 
The  grotesque  humour  of  his  interview  with  the  spectre 
seemed  scarcely  to  have  been  realised,  in  fact,  until 
their  colloquy  was  actually  listened  to  in  the  Heading. 


THE    CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  103 

Scrooge's  entreaty  addressed  to  the  Ghost,  when  the 
latter  demanded  a  hearing,  "  Don't  be  flowery,  Jacob, 
.pray  !  "  was  only  less  laughable,  for  example,  than  the 
expression  of  the  old  dreamer's  visage  when  Marley 
informed  him  that  he  had  often  sat  beside  him 
invisibly !  Promised  a  chance  and  hope  in  the  future 
— a  chance  and  hope  of  his  dead  partner's  procuring — 
Scrooge's  "  Thank  'ee  !  " — full  of  doubt — was  a  fitting 
prelude  to  his  acknowledgment  of  the  favour  when 
explained.  "You  will  be  haunted,"  quoth  the  Ghost, 
41  by  three  Spirits."  The  other  faltering,  "  I— I  think 
I'd  rather  not :  "  and  then  quietly  hinting  afterwards, 
"  Couldn't  I  take  'em'  all  at  once,  and  have  it  over, 
Jacob  ?  " 

As  for  the  revelations  made  to  Ebenezer  Scrooge  by 
those  three  memorable  Spirits  of  Christmas  Past,  Pre 
sent,  and  Future,  who  can  ever  hope  to  relate  them  and 
impersonate  them  as  they  were  related  and  imper 
sonated  by  the  Author  himself  of  this  peerless  ghost- 
story  !  Fezziwig,  for  example,  with  his  calves  shining 
like  moons,  who,  after  going  through  all  the  intri 
cacies  of  the  country  dance,  bow,  corkscrew,  thread- 
the-needle,  and  back  again  to  your  place,  cut — "  cut 
so  deftly  that  he  appeared  to  wink  with  his  legs,  and 
came  upon  his  feet  again  without  a  stagger  !  "  The  very 
Fiddler,  who  "went  up  to  the  lofty  desk  and  made  an 
orchestra  of  it,  and  tuned  like  fifty  stomach-aches ! " 
Master  Peter  Cratchit,  again,  arrayed  in  his  father's 
shirt  collars,  who,  rejoicing  to  find  himself  so  gallautly 


104  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

attired,  at  one  moment  "  yearned  to  show  his  linen  in 
the  fashionable  parks,"  and  at  another,  hearing  his 
sister  Martha  talk  of  some  lord  who  "  was  much  about 
as  tall  as  Peter,  pulled  up  his  collars  so  high  that 
you  couldn't  have  seen  him  if  you  had  been  there." 
As  for  the  pathetic  portions  of  the  narrative,  it  is 
especially  observable  in  regard  to  those,  that  they  were 
anything  rather  than  made  too  much  of.  There,  more 
particularly,  the  elisions  were  ruthless.  Looking 
through  the  marked  copy,  it  really  would  appear  that 
only  a  very  few  indeed  of  the  salient  points  were  left  in 
regard  to  the  life  and  death  of  Tiny  Tim.  Bob's  visit 
to  the  death-bed  was  entirely  unmeiitioned.  Even  the 
words  "  Spirit  of  Tiny  Tim,  thy  childish  essence  was 
from  God ! "  were  never  uttered.  Two  utterances 
there  were,  however,  the  one  breathing  an  exquisite 
tenderness,  the  other  indicative  of  a  long-suppressed 
but  passionate  outburst  of  grief,  that  thrilled  to  the 
hearts  of  all  who  heard  them,  and  still,  we  doubt  not, 
haunt  their  recollection.  The  one — where  the  mother, 
laying  her  mourning  needlework  upon  the  table,  put 
her  hand  up  to  her  face.  "  '  The  colour  hurts  my 
eyes,'  she  said.  The  colour?  Ah  !  poor  Tiny  Tim  !" 
The  other,  where  the  father,  while  describing  the  little 
creature's  grave,  breaks  down  in  a  sudden  agony  of 
tears.  "  It  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  how 
green  a  place  it  is.  But  you'll  see  it  often.  I  pro 
mised  him  that  I  would  walk  there  on  a  Sunday — My 
little,  little  child  !  My  little  child  !  "  It  was  a  touch  o£ 


THE   CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  105 

nature  that  made  the  Header  and  his  world  of  hearers, 
upon  the  instant,  kin.  The  tearful  outcry  brimmed  to- 
the  eyes  of  those  present  a  thousand  visible  echoes. 
"  He  broke  down  all  at  once.  He  couldn't  help  it," 
said  the  Header,  adding  in  subdued  accents  the  simple 
words,  "If  he  could  have  helped  it,  he  and  his  child 
would  have  been  further  apart  perhaps  than  they 
were."  With  that  ended  all  reference  to  the  home- 
grief  at  Bob  Cratchit's.  Everything  else  in  relation  to- 
the  loss  of  Tiny  Tim  was  foregone  unhesitatingly. 

The  descriptive  passages  were  cut  out  by  wholesale. 
While  the  Christmas  dinner  at  Scrooge's  Clerk's,  and 
the  Christmas  party  at  Scrooge's  Nephew's,  were  left  in 
almost  in  their  entirety,  the  street-scenes  and  shop- 
window  displays  were  obliterated  altogether.  Nothing 
at  all  was  said  about  the  "  great  round,  pot-bellied 
baskets  of  chestnuts,  shaped  like  the  waistcoats  of  jolly 
old  gentlemen  lolling  at  the  doors  and  tumbling  into 
the  streets  in  their  apoplectic  opulence."  Nothing 
about  the  ruddy,  brown-faced,  broad-girthed  Spanish 
onions,  shining  in  the  fatness  of  their  growth  like 
Spanish  friars,  and  "winking  from  their  shelves  in 
wanton  slyness  at  the  girls  as  they  went  by,  and 
glanced  demurely  at  the  hung-up  mistletoe."  Nothing 
about  the  canisters  of  tea  and  coffee  "rattled  up  and 
down  like  juggling  tricks,"  or  about  the  candied  fruits 
"  so  caked  and  spotted  with  molten  sugar  as  to  make 
the  coldest  lookers-on  feel  faint,  and  subsequently 
bilious." 


106  CHARLES   DICKENS  AS   A   READER. 

Nay,  we  were  denied  even  a  momentary  glimpse,  on 
the  snow-crusted  pavement  at  nightfall,  of  that  group 
of  handsome  girls,  all  hooded  and  fur-booted,  and  all 
chattering  at  once,  tripping  lightly  off  to  some  near 
neighbour's  house,  "  where,  woe  upon  the  single  man 
who  saw  them  enter — artful  witches,  well  they  knew  it 
— in  a  glow !  "  Topper  was  there,  however,  and  the 
plump  sister  in  the  lace  tucker,  and  the  game  of  Yes- 
and-No,  the  solution  to  which  was,  "  It's  your  uncle 
Scro-o-o-o-oge ! "  Happiest  of  all  these  non-omis 
sions,  as  one  may  call  them,  there  was  that  charming 
picture  of  Scrooge's  niece  by  marriage,  which — as 
brightly,  exquisitely  articulated  by  the  lips  of  her 
iniaginer — was  like  the  loveliest  girl-portrait  ever 
painted  by  Greuze.  (t  She  was  very  pretty,  exceed 
ingly  pretty.  With  a  dimpled,  surprised-looking,  capital 
face ;  a  ripe  little  mouth,  that  seemed  made  to  be 
kissed — as  no  doubt  it  was ;  all  kinds  of  good  little  dots 
about  her  chin,  that  melted  into  one  another  when  she 
laughed  ;  and  the  sunniest  pair  of  eyes  you  ever  saw  in 
any  little  creature's  head.  Altogether  she  was  what  you 
would  have  called  provoking,  you  know ;  but  satis 
factory,  too.  Oh,  perfectly  satisfactory."  The  grave 
face  and  twinkling  eyes  with  which  this  cordial 
acquiescence  in  the  conclusion  arrived  at  was  ex- 
pressed  were  irresistibly  exhilarating.  Just  in  the 
same  way  there  was  a  sort  of  parenthetical  smack 
of  the  lips  in  the  self-communing  of  Scrooge  when, 
nt  the  very  close  of  the  story,  after  hesitating 


THE    CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  107 

awhile  at  his  Nephew's  door  as  to  whether  he 
should  knock,  he  made  a  dash  and  did  it.  "  Is 
your  master  at  home,  niy  .dear?"  said  Scrooge. 
"Nice  girl!  very"  Then,  as  to  the  cordiality  of 
his  reception  by  his  Nephew,  what  could  by  possi 
bility  have  expressed  it  better  than  the  look,  voice, 
manner  of  the  Eeader.  " '  Will  you  let  me  in, 
Fred  ?  '  Let  him  in  !  It  is  a  mercy  he  didn't  shake 
his  arm  off."  The  turkey  that  "  never  could  have  stood 
upon  its  legs,  that  bird,"  but  must  have  "snapped 
'em  short  off  in  a  minute,  like  sticks  of  sealing-wax! " — 
the  remarkable,  boy  who  was  just  about  its  size,  and  who, 
when  told  to  go  and  buy  it,  cried  out  "  Walk-En!" — 
Bob  Cratchit's  trying  to  overtake  nine  o'clock  with  his 
pen  on  his  arriving  nearly  twenty  minutes  afterwards  ; 
his  trembling  and  getting  a  little  nearer  the  ruler  when 
regenerated  Scrooge  talks  about  raising  his  salary,  prior 
to  calling  him  Bob,  and,  with  a  clap  on  the  back,  wishing 
him  a  merry  Christmas  ! — brought,  hilariously,  the 
whole  radiant  Reading  of  this  wonderful  story  to  its 
conclusion.  It  was  a  feast  of  humour  and  a  flow  of 
fun,  better  than  all  the  yule-tide  fare  that  ever  was 
provided — fuller  of  good  things  than  any  Christmas 
pudding  of  plums  and  candied  fruit-peel — more  warm 
ing  to  the  cockles  of  one's  heart,  whatever  those  may 
be,  than  the  mellowest  wassail-bowl  ever  brimmed  to 
over-flowing.  No  wonder  those  two  friends  of 
Thackeray,  who  have  been  already  mentioned,  and 
who  were  both  of  them  women,  said  of  the  Author  of 


108  CHAELES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

the  "  Carol,"  by  way  of  criticism,  "  God  bless  him  ! >r 
This  being  exclaimed  by  them,  as  will  be  remembered, 
simply  after  reading  it  to  themselves.  If  only  they 
had  heard  him  read  it ! 


THE  TKIAL  FROM  PICKWICK. 


READER  and  audience  about  equally,  one  may  say, 
revelled  in  the  "  Trial  from  Pickwick."  Every  well- 
known  person  in  the  comic  drama  was  looked  for 
eagerly,  and  when  at  last  Serjeant  Buzfuz,  as  we  were 
told,  "rose  with  more  importance  than  he  had  yet 
exhibited,  if  that  were  possible,  and  said,  '  Call 
Samuel  Weller,' "  a  round  of  applause  invariably 
greeted  the  announcement  of  perhaps  the  greatest  of  all 
Dickens's  purely  humorous  characters.  The  Reading 
copy  of  this  abbreviated  report  of  the  great  case  of 
Bardell  v.  Pickivick  has,  among  the  complete  set  of 
Readings,  one  very  striking  peculiarity.  Half-bound 
in  scarlet  morocco  like  all  the  other  thin  octavos  in 
the  collection,  its  leaves  though  yellow  and  worn  with 
constant  turning  like  the  rest,  are  wholly  unlike  those  of 
the  others  in  this,  that  the  text  is  untouched  by  pen  or 
pencil.  Beyond  the  first  condensation  of  that  memorable 
34th  chapter  of  Pickwick,  there  is  introduced  not  one 
single  alteration  by  way  of  after- thought.  Struck  off 
at  a  heat,  as  it  was,  that  first  humorous  report  of  the 
-action  for  breach  of  promise  of  marriage  brought  by 


110  CHAKLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

Martha  Bardell  against  Samuel  Pickwick  admitted  in 
truth  in  no  way  whatever  of  improvement.  Anything 
like  a  textual  change  would  have  been  resented  by  the 
hearers — every  one  of  them  Pickwickian,  as  the  case 
might  be,  to  a  man,  woman,  or  child — as  in  the  esti 
mation  of  the  literary  court,  nothing  less  than  a  high 
crime  and  misdemeanour.  Once  epitomised  for  the 
Reading,  the  printed  version,  at  least  of  the  report, 
was  left  altogether  intact.  Nevertheless,  strange  to 
say,  there  was  perhaps  no  Reading  out  of  the  whole 
series  of  sixteen,  in  the  delivery  of  which  the 
Author  more  readily  indulged  himself  with  an  occa 
sional  gag.  Every  interpolation  of  this  kind,  however, 
was  so  obviously  introduced  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  so  refreshingly  spontaneous  and  so  ludi 
crously  apropos,  that  it  was  always  cheered  to  the 
very  echo,  or,  to  put  the  fact  not  conventionally  but 
literally,  was  received  with  peals  of  laughter.  Thus  it 
was  in  one  instance,  as  we  very  well  remember,  in 
regard  to  Mr.  Justice  Stareleigh — upon  every  occasion 
that  we  saw  him,  one  of  the  Reader's  most  whimsical 
impersonations.  The  little  judge — described  in  the 
book  as  "  all  face  and  waistcoat  " — was  presented  to 
view  upon  the  platform  as  evidently  with  no  neck  at 
all  (to  speak  of),  and  as  blinking  with  owl-like  stolidity 
whenever  he  talked,  which  he  always  did  under  his 
voice,  and  with  apparently  a  severe  cold  in  the  head. 
On  the  night  more  particularly  referred  to,  Sam 
Weller,  being  at  the  moment  in  the  witness-box,  had 


THE   TRIAL   FROM   PICKWICK.  Ill 

just  replied  to  the  counsel's  suggestion,  that  what  ha 
(Sam)  meant  by  calling  Mr.  Pickwick's  "  a  very  good 
service  "  was  "little  to  do  and  plenty  to  get." — "  Oh, 
quite  enough  to  get,  sir,  as  the  soldier  said  ven  they 
ordered  him  three  hundred  and  fifty  lashes."  There 
upon — glowering  angrily  at  Sam,  and  blinking  his  eyes 
more  than  ever — Mr.  Justice  Stareleigh  remarked,  with 
a  heavier  cold  in  the  head  than  hitherto,  in  a  severe 
monotone,  and  with  the  greatest  deliberation,  "  You 
must  not  tell  us  what  the  soldier  says  unless  the 
soldier  is  in  court,  unless  that  soldier  comes  here  in 
uniform,  and  is  examined  in  the  usual  way — it's  not 
evidence."  Another  evening,  again,  we  recall  quite 
as  clearly  to  mind,  when  the  Header  was  revelling 
more  even  than  was  his  wont,  in  the  fun  of  this  re 
presentation  of  the  trial-scene,  he  suddenly  seemed  to 
open  up  the  revelation  of  an  entirely  new  phase  in  Mr. 
Winkle's  idiosyncrasy.  Under  the  badgering  of  Mr. 
Skimpin's  irritating  examination,  as  to  whether  he  was 
or  was  not  a  particular  friend  of  Mr.  Pickwick  the 
defendant,  the  usually  placable  Pickwickian's  patience 
upon  this  occasion  appeared  gradually  and  at  last  utterly 
to  forsake  him.  "  I  have  known  Mr.  Pickwick  now,  as 

well  as  I  can  recollect  at  this  moment,  nearly " 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Winkle,  do  not  evade  the  question.  Are 
you  or  are  you  not  a  particular  friend  of  the  de 
fendant's  ?"  "  I  was  just  about  to  say "  "  Will 

you,  or  will  you  not,  answer  my  question,  sir?" 
"  Why,  God  bless  my  soul,  I  was  just  about  to  say 


112  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

that "    Whereupon  the  Court,  otherwise  Mr.  Justice 

Stareleigh,  blinking  faster  than  ever,  blurted  out 
severely,  "  If  yon  don't  answer  the  question  you'll  be 
committed  to  prison,  sir ! "  And  then,  but  not  till  then, 
Mr.  Winkle  was  sufficiently  restored  to  equanimity  to 
admit  at  last,  meekly,  "  Yes,  he  was  ! " 

In  the  Eeading  of  the  Trial  the  first  droll  touch 
was  the  well-remembered  reference  to  the  gentlemen 
in  wigs,  in  the  barristers'  seats,  presenting  as  a  body 
"  all   that  pleasing  variety  of  nose   and  whisker  for 
which  the  bar  of  England  is  so  justly  celebrated." 
Even    the    allusion   to   those    among    their    number 
who  carried  a  brief  "  scratching  their  noses  with  it  to 
impress  the  fact  more  strongly  on  the  observation  of 
the  spectators,"  and  the  other  allusion  to  those  who 
hadn't  a  brief,   carrying  instead  red-labelled  octavos 
with    "  that   under-done-pie-crust    cover,    technically 
known  as  law  calf,"  was  each,  in  turn,  welcomed  with 
a  flutter  of  amusement.    Every  point,  however  minute, 
told,  and  told  effectively.      More    effectively   than  if 
each  was  heard  for  the  first  time,  because   all   were 
thoroughly   known,    and,    therefore,    thoroughly  well 
appreciated.     The  opening  address  of  Serjeant  Buzfuz 
every  one   naturally  enough  regarded  as  one  of  the 
most  mirth-moving  portions  of  the  whole  representa 
tion.     In  the  very  exordium  of  it  there  wras  something 
eminently   absurd    in   the    Serjeant's    extraordinarily 
precise,    almost   mincing    pronunciation.      As  where 
he  said,  that  "  never  in  the  whole  course  of  his  pro- 


THE   TRIAL   FROM   PICKWICK.  11.3 

fessional  experience — never  from  the  first  moment  of 
his  applying  himself  to  the  study  and  practice  of  the 
law — had  he  approached  a  case  with  such  a  heavy 
sense  of  respon-see-hee-lee-ty  imposed  upon  him — a 
respon-see-hee-lee-ty  he  could  never  have  supported 
were  he  not,"  and  so  forth.  Again,  a  wonderfully 
ridiculous  eifect  was  imparted  by  the  Reader  to  his 
mere  contrasts  of  manner  when,  at  one  moment,  in 
the  bland  and  melancholy  accents  of  Serjeant  Buzfuz, 
he  referred  to  the  late  Mr.  Bardell  as  having  "  glided 
almost  imperceptibly  from  the  world  to  seek  elsewhere 
for  that  repose  and  peace  which  a  custom-house  can 
never  afford,"  adding,  the  next  instant  in  his  own 
voice,  and  with  the  most  cruelly  matter-of-fact  pre 
cision,  "  This  was  a  pathetic  description  of  the  decease 
of  Mr.  Bardell,  who  had  been  knocked  on  the  head 
with  a  quart-pot  in  a  public -house  cellar."  The 
gravity  of  the  Reader's  countenance  at  these  moments, 
with,  now  and  then,  but  very  rarely,  a  lurking  twinkle 
in  the  eye,  was  of  itself  irresistibly  provocative  of 
laughter.  Even  upon  the  Serjeant's  mention. of  the 
written  placard  hung  up  in  the  parlour  window  of 
Goswell  Street,  bearing  this  inscription,  "  Apartments 
furnished  for  single  gentlemen :  inquire  within,"  the 
sustained  seriousness  with  which  he  added,  that. there 
the  forensic  orator  paused  while  several  gentlemen  of 
the  jury  "  took  a  note  of  the  document,"  one  of  that 
intelligent  body  inquiring,  "  There  is  no  date  to  that, 
is  there,  sir?"  made  fresh  ripples  of  laughter  spread 

i 


114  CHARLES   DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

from  it  as  inevitably  as  the  concentric  circles  on  water 
from  the  dropping  of  a  pebble.  The  crowning  extrava 
gances  of  this  most  Gargantuan  of  comic  orations  were 
always  of  course  the  most  eagerly  welcomed,  such,  for 
example,  as  the  learned  Serjeant's  final  allusion  to 
Pickwick's  coining  before  the  court  that  day  with  "his 
heartless  tomato-sauce  and  warming-pans,"  and  the 
sonorous  close  of  the  impassioned  peroration  with  the 
plaintiff's  appeal  to  "an  enlightened,  a  high-minded, 
a  right-feeling,  a  conscientious,  a  dispassionate,  a 
sympathising,  a  contemplative  jury  of  her  civilised 
countrymen."  It  was  after  this,  however,  that  the  true 
fun  of  the  Reading  began  with  the  examination  and 
cross-examination  of  the  different  witnesses.  These, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  were  acted,  not  described. 

Mrs.  Cluppins  first  entered  the  box,  with  her 
feelings,  so  far  as  they  could  be  judged  from  her 
voice,  evidently  all  but  too  many  for  her.  Her  flut 
tered  reply  showed  this  at  the  very  commencement,  in 
answer  to  an  inquiry  as  to  whether  she  remembered 
one  particular  morning  in  July  last,  when  Mrs.  Bar- 
dell  was  dusting  Pickwick's  apartment.  "  Yes,  my 
lord  and  jury,  I  do."  "  Was  that  sitting-room  the 
first-floor  front?"  "Yes,  it  were,  sir" — something 
in  the  manner  of  Mrs.  Crupp  when  at  her  faintest. 
The  suspicious  inquiry  of  the  red-faced  little  Judge, 
''What  were  you  doing  in  the  back-room,  ma'am?" 
followed — on  her  replying  lackadaisically,  "  My  lord 
and  jury,  I  will  not  deceive  you" — by  his  blinking 


THE    TRIAL    FROM    PICKWICK.  115 

at  her  more  fiercely,  "You  had  better  not,  ma'am,"" 
were  only  exceeded  in  comicality  by  Justice  Stare- 
leigli's  bewilderment  a  moment  afterwards,  upon  her 
saying  that  she  "  see  Mrs.  BarclelTs  street-door  on 
the  jar." 

JUDGE  (in  immense  astonishment). — "  On  the  what?" 

COUNSEL. — "Partly  open,  my  lord." 

JUDGE  (with  more  owl-like  stolidity  than  ever). — 
"  She  said  on  the  jar." 

COUNSEL. — "  It's  all  the  same,  my  lord." 

Then — blinking  more  quickly  than  before,  with  a 
furtive  glance  at  witness,  and  a  doubtful  look  of  ab 
straction  into  space — the  little  Judge  made  a  note  of  it. 

As  in  Mrs.  Cluppins'  faintness  there  was  a  recog 
nizable  touch  of  Mrs.  Crupp,  when  the  spasms  were 
engendering  in  the  nankeen  bosom  of  that  exemplary 
female,  so  also  in  the  maternal  confidences  volunteered 
by  the  same  witness,  there  was  an  appreciable  re 
minder  of  another  lady  who  will  be  remembered 
as  having  been  introduced  at  the  Coroner's  Inquest 
in  Bleak  House  as  "  Anastasia  Piper,  gentlemen." 
Regarding  that  as  a  favourable  opportunity  for  inform 
ing  the  court  of  her  own  domestic  affairs,  through  the 
medium  of  a  brief  dissertation,  Mrs.  Cluppins  was 
interrupted  by  the  irascible  Judge  at  the  most  interest 
ing  point  in  her  revelations,  when,  having  mentioned 
that  she  was  already  the  mother  of  eight  children,  she 
added,  that  "  she  entertained  confident  expectations  of 
presenting  Mr.  Cluppins  with  a  ninth  about  that  day 

i  2 


116  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

six  months  " — whereupon  the  worthy  lady  was  sum 
marily  hustled  out  of  the  witness-box. 

Nathaniel  Winkle,  however,  consoled  us  imme 
diately.  Don't  we  remember  how,  even  before  he 
could  open  his  lips,  he  was  completely  disconcerted  ? 
Namely,  when,  bowing  very  respectfully  to  the  little 
Judge,  he  had  that  complimentary  proceeding  acknow 
ledged  snappishly  with,  "  Don't  look  at  me,  sir ;  look 

at  the  jury "     Mr.  Winkle,  in  obedience  to  the 

mandate,  meekly  looking  "  at  the  place  where  he 
thought  that  the  jury  might  be."  Don't  we  remember 
also  perfectly  well  how  the  worst  possible  construction 
was  cast  by  implication  beforehand  upon  his  probable 
reply  to  the  very  first  question  put  to  him,  namely,  by 
the  mere  manner  in  which  that  first  question  was  put? 
"Now,  sir,  have  the  goodness  to  let  his  lordship  and 
the  jury  know  what  your  name  is,  will  you?  "  Mr. 
Skimpin,  in  propounding  this  inquiry,  inclining  his 
head  on  one  side  and  listening  with  great  sharpness 
for  the  answer,  "  as  if  to  imply  that  he  rather  thought 
Mr.  Winkle's  natural  taste  for  perjury  would  induce 
him  to  give  some  name  which  did  not  belong  to  him." 
Giving  in,  absurdly,  his  surname  only ;  and  being 
asked  immediately  afterwards,  if  possible  still  more 
absurdly,  by  the  Judge,  "  Have  you  any  Christian 
name,  sir  ? "  the  witness,  in  the  Reading,  more 
naturally  and  yet  more  confusedly  even  it  seemed  than 
in  the  book,  got  that  eminent  functionary  into  a  great 
bewilderment  as  to  whether  he  (Mr.  Winkle)  were  called 


THE   TRIAL   FROM   PICKWICK,  117 

Nathaniel  Daniel,  or  Daniel  Nathaniel.  Bewildered 
himself,  in  his  turn,  and  that  too  almost  hopelessly,  came 
Mr.  Winkle's  reply,  "  No,  my  lord  ;  only  Nathaniel — 
not  Daniel  at  all."  Irascibly,  the  Judge's,  "  What  did 
you  tell  me  it  was  Daniel  for,  then,  sir?"  Shame 
faced  and  yet  irritably,  "I  didn't,  my  lord."  "You 
did,  sir !  " — with  great  indignation,  topped  by  this 
cogent  reasoning, — "  How  could  I  have  got  Daniel  on 
my  notes,  unless  you  told  me  so,  sir  ?  "  Nothing  at 
all  was  said  about  it  in  the  Reading ;  but,  again  and 
again,  Mr.  Winkle,  as  there  impersonated,  while  endea 
vouring  to  feign  an  easiness  of  manner,  was  made  to 
assume,  in  his  then  state  of  confusion,  "rather  the  air 
of  a  disconcerted  pickpocket." 

Better  almost  than  Mr.  Winkle  himself,  however, 
as  an  impersonation,  was,  in  look,  voice,  manner, 
Mr.  Skimpin,  the  junior  barrister,  under  whose  cheer 
ful  but  ruthless  interrogations  that  unfortunate  gen 
tleman  was  stretched  upon  the  rack  of  examination. 
His  (Mr.  Skimpin's)  cheery  echoing — upon  every  occa 
sion  when  it  was  at  last  extorted  from  his  victim — of 
the  latter's  answer  (followed  instantly  by  his  own 
taunts  and  insinuations),  remains  as  vividly  as  any 
thing  at  all  about  this  Reading  in  our  recollection. 
When  at  length  Mr.  Winkle,  with  no  reluctance  in  the 
world,  but  only  seemingly  with  reluctance,  answers 
the  inquiry  as  to  whether  he  is  a  particular  friend  of 
Pickwick,  "  Yes,  I  am  !  " — "  Yes,  you  are  !  "  said  Mr. 
Skimpin  (audibly  to  the  court,  but  as  if  it  were  only 


118  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

to  himself).  "  And  why  couldn't  you  say  that  at  once, 
sir  ?  Perhaps  you  know  the  plaintiff,  too — eh,  Mr. 
Winkle?"  "I  don't  know  her;  I've  seen  her!" 
"  Oh,  you  don't  know  her,  but  you've  seen  her  ?  Now 
have  the  goodness  to  tell  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury 
what  you  mean  by  that,  Mr.  Winkle."  As  to  how  this 
unfortunate  witness,  after  being  driven  to  the  confines 
of  desperation,  on  being  at  last  released,  "  rushed  with 
delirious  haste  "  to  the  hotel,  "where  he  was  discovered 
some  hours  after  by  the  waiter,  groaning  in  a  hollow 
and  dismal  manner,  with  his  head  buried  beneath  the 
sofa  cushions  " — not  a  word  was  said  in  the  Beading. 

A  flavour  of  the  fun  of  Mrs.  Sanders's  evidence  was 
given,  but  only  a  passing  flavour  of  it,  in  reference  to 
Mr.  Sanders  having,  in  the  course  of  their  correspon 
dence,  often  called  her  duck,  but  never  chops,  nor  yet 
tomato-sauce — he  being  particularly  fond  of  ducks — 
though  possibly,  if  he  had  been  equally  fond  of  chops 
and  tomato -sauce,  he  might  have  called  her  that 
instead,  as  a  term  of  affection. 

The  evidence  of  all,  however,  was  that  of  Sam 
Weller,  no  less  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  Author,  it  was 
plain  to  see,  than  to  that  of  his  hearers.  After  old 
Weller 's  hoarse  and  guttural  cry  from  the  gallery, 
"Put  it  down  a  wree,  my  lord,"  in  answer  to  the 
inquiry  whether  the  immortal  surname  was  to  be  spelt 
with  a  V.  or  a  W. ;  Sam's  quiet  "  I  rayther  suspect  it 
was  my  father,  my  lord,"  came  with  irresistible  effect 
from  the  Reader,  as  also  did  his  recollection  of  some- 


THE   TRIAL   FROM    PICKWICK.  119 

thing  "  wery  partickler  "  having  happened  011  the 
memorable  morning,  out  of  which  had  sprung  the 
whole  of  this  trial  of  Bardell  v.  Pickwick,  namely,  that 
he  himself  that  clay  had  "  a  reg'lar  new  fit  out  o' 
clothes."  Beyond  all  the  other  Wellerisms,  however, 
was  Sam's  overwhelmingly  conclusive  answer  to 
counsel's  inquiry  in  regard  to  his  not  having  seen 
what  occurred,  though  he  himself,  at  the  time,  was  in 
the  passage,  "  Have  you  a  pair  of  eyes,  Mr.  Weller?  " 
"  Yes,  I  have  a  pair  of  eyes ;  and  that's  just  it.  If 
they  wos  a  pair  o'  patent  double -million  magnifying 
gas  microscopes  of  hextra  power,  p'r'aps  I  might  be 
able  to  see  through  two  flights  o'  stairs  and  a  deal 
door ;  but  bein'  only  eyes,  you  see,  my  wision's 
limited."  Better  by  far,  in  our  estimation,  never 
theless,  than  the  smart  Cockney  facetiousness  of  the 
inimitable  Sam;  better  than  the  old  coachman's 
closing  lamentation,  "  Vy  worn't  there  a  alleybi  ?  " 
better  than  Mr.  Winkle,  or  Mrs.  Cluppins,  or  Serjeant 
Buzfuz,  or  than  all  the  rest  of  those  engaged  in  any 
capacity  in  the  trial,  put  together,  was  the  irascible 
little  Judge,  with  the  blinking  eyes  and  the  monotonous 
voice — himself,  in  his  very  pose,  obviously,  ' '  all  face 
.and  waistcoat."  Than  Mr.  Justice  Stareleigh  there 
was,  in  the  whole  of  this  most  humorous  of  all  the 
Readings,  no  more  highly  comic  impersonation. 


DAVID  COPPEKFIELD. 


THE  sea-beach  at  Yarmouth  formed  both  the 
opening  and  the  closing  scene  of  this  Reading,  in  six 
chapters,  from  "  David  Copperfield."  In  its  varied 
portraiture  of  character  and  in  the  wonderful  de 
scriptive  power  marking  its  conclusion,  it  was  one  of 
the  most  interesting  and  impressive  of  the  whole  series 
in  its  delivery.  Through  it,  we  renewed  our  acquaint 
ance  more  vividly  than  ever  with  handsome,  curly- 
headed,  reckless,  heartless  Steerforth!  With  poor, 
lone,  lorn  Mrs.  Gummidge,  not  only  when  everythink 
about  her  went  contrairy,  but  when  her  better  nature 
gushed  forth  under  the  great  calamity  befalling  her 
benefactor.  With  pretty  little  Emily,  and  bewitching 
little  Dora.  With  Mr.  Micawber,  his  shirt-collar,  his. 
eye-glass,  the  condescending  roll  in  his  voice,  and 
his  intermittent  bursts  of  confidence.  With  Mrs. 
Micawber,  who,  as  the  highest  praise  we  can  bestow 
upon  her,  is  quite  worthy  of  her  husband,  and  who  is 
always,  it  will  be  remembered,  so  impassioned  in  her 
declaration  that,  come  what  may,  she  never  will  desert 


DAVID    COrPERFIELD. 

Mr.  Micawber  !  With  Traddles,  and  his  irrepressible 
hair,  even  a  love-lock  from  which  had  to  be  kept  down 
by  Sophy's  preservation  of  it  in  a  clasped  locket! 
With  Mr.  Peggotty,  in  fine,  who,  in  his  tender  love  for 
his  niece,  is,  according  to  his  own  account,  "not  to 
look  at,  but  to  think  on,"  nothing  less  than  a  babby 
in  the  form  of  .a  great  sea  Porkypine  !  Remem- 
bering  the  other  originals,  crowding  the  pages  of  the 
story  in  its  integrity,  how  one  would  have  liked  to 
have  seen  even  a  few  more  of  them  impersonated  by 
the  protean  Novelist !  That  "  most  wonderful  woman 
in  the  world,"  Aunt  Betsey,  for  example;  or  that  most 
laconic  of  carriers,  Mr.  Barkis  ;  or,  to  name  yet  one 
other,  Uriah  Heep,  that  reddest  and  most  writhing  of 
rascally  attornies.  As  it  was,  however,  there  were 
abundant  realizations  within  the  narrow  compass  of 
this  Reading  of  the  principal  persons  introduced  in 
the  autobiography  of  David  Copperfield.  The  most 
loveable,  by  the  way,  of  all  the  young  heroes  por 
trayed  in  the  Dickens'  Gallery  was  there,  to  begin 
with,  for  example  —  the  peculiar  loveableness  of 
David  being  indicated  as  plainly  as  by  any  means 
through  the  extraordinary  variety  of  pet  names  given 
to  him  by  one  or  another  in  the  course  of  the  narra 
tive.  For,  was  he  not  the  "Daisy"  of  Steerforth, 
the  "Doady"  of  Dora,  the  "  Trotwood "  of  Aunt 
Betsy,  and  the  "  Mas'r  Davy"  of  the  Yarmouth 
boatmen,  just  as  surely  as  he  was  the  "Mr.  Copper- 
full  "  »of  Mrs.  Crupp,  the  "Master  Copperfield"  of 


122  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

Uriah  Heep,    and   the    "  Dear   Copperfield "  of  Mr. 
Wilkins  Micawber  ? 

That  "  The  Personal  History  and  Experiences  of 
David  Copperfield  the  Younger "  was,  among  all  its 
author's  works,  his  own  particular  favourite,  he  him 
self,  in  his  very  last  preface  to  it,  in  1867,  formally 
acknowledged.  Several  years  previously,  while 
sauntering  with  him  to  and  fro  one  evening  on 
the  grass-plot  at  Gadshill,  we  remember  receiving 
from  him  that  same  admission.  "  Which  of  all  your 
books  do  you  think  I  regard  as  incomparably  your 
best  ?  "  "  Which  ?  "  "  David  Copperfield."  A 
momentary  pause  ensuing,  he  added,  readily  and 
without  the  smallest  reservation,  "  You  are  quite 
right."  The  acknowledgment  then  made  as  to 
this  being  in  fact  his  own  opinion  was  thus  simply 
but  emphatically  expressed.  Pen  in  hand,  long  after 
wards,  he  made  the  same  admission,  only  with  yet 
greater  emphasis,  when  the  Preface  to  the  new  edition 
of  the  story  in  1867  was  thus  closed  by  Charles 
Dickens — "  Of  all  my  books,  I  like  this  the  best. 
It  will  be  easily  believed  that  I  am  a  fond  parent  to 
every  child  of  my  fancy,  and  that  no  one  can  ever  love 
that  family  as  dearly  as  I  love  them.  But,  like  many 
fond  parents,  I  have  in  my  heart  of  hearts  a  favourite 
child.  And  his  name  is  ' David  Copperfield.'"  Having 
that  confession  from  his  own  lips  and  under  his  own 
hand,  it  will  be  readily  understood  that  the  Novelist 
always  took  an  especial  delight  when,  in  the  course 


DAVID    COPPERFIELD.  123 

of  his  Readings,  the  turn  came  for  that  of  "  David 
Copperfield." 

One  of  the  keenest  sensations  of  pleasure  he  ever 
experienced  as  a  Header — as  he  himself  related  to  us 
with  the  liveliest  gratification,  evidently,  even  in  the 
mere  recollection  of  the  incident — occurred  in  con 
nection  with  this  very  Reading.  Strange  to  say, 
moreover,  it  occurred,  not  in  England  or  in  America, 
in  the  presence  of  an  English-speaking  audience,  but 
in  Paris,  and  face  to  face  with  an  audience  more  than 
half  of  which  was  composed  of  Frenchmen.  And  the 
hearer  who  caused  him,  there,  that  artistic  sense,  one 
might  almost  call  it  thrill  of  satisfaction — was  a 
Frenchman !  All  that  was  expressed  on  the  part  of 
this  appreciative  listener,  being  uttered  by  him  instan 
taneously  in  a  half-whispered,  monosyllabic  ejacu 
lation.  As  we  have  already  explained  upon  an 
earlier  page,  the  Readings  which  took  place  in  Paris, 
and  which  were  in  behalf  of  the  British  Charitable 
Fund  in  that  capital,  were  given  there  before  a  densely 
crowded  but  very  select  audience  at  the  British 
Embassy,  Lord  Cowley  being  then  her  Majesty's 
ambassador.  The  Reading  on  the  occasion  referred 
to  was  "  David  Copperfield,"  and  the  Reader  became 
aware  in  the  midst  of  the  hushed  silence,  just  after 
he  had  been  saying,  in  the  voice  of  Steerforth, 
giving  at  the  same  moment  a  cordial  grasp  of  the 
hand  to  the  briny  fisherman  he  was  addressing : 
"  Mr.  Peggotty,  you  are  a  thoroughly  good  fellow,  and 


124  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

deserve  to  be  as  happy  as  you  are  to-niglit.  My  hand 
upon  it !  "  when,  turning  round,  he  added,  still  as 
Steerforth,  but  speaking  in  a  very  different  voice  and 
offering  a  very  different  hand-grip,  as  though  already 
he  were  thinking  to  himself  what  a  chuckle-headed 
fellow  the  young  shipwright  was — "  Ham,  I  give  you 
joy,  my  boy.  My  hand  upon  that  too  !  "  The  always 
keenly  observant  Novelist  became  aware  of  a  French 
man,  who  wras  eagerly  listening  in  the  front  row  of  the 
stalls,  suddenly  exclaiming  to  himself,  under  his  breath, 
"Ah — h!" — having  instantly  caught  the  situation! 
The  sound  of  that  one  inarticulate  monosyllable,  as  he 
observed,  when  relating  the  circumstance,  gave  the 
Reader,  as  an  artist,  a  far  livelier  sense  of  satisfaction 
than  any  that  could  possibly  have  been  imparted  by 
mere  acclamations,  no  matter  how  spontaneous  or 
enthusiastic. 

As  a  Reading,  it  always  seemed  to  us,  that  "David 
Copperfield"  was  cut  down  rather  distressingly.  That, 
nevertheless,  was  unavoidable.  Turning  in  off  Yar 
mouth  sands,  we  went  straight  at  once  through  the 
"delightful  door"  cut  in  its  side,  into  the  old  black 
barge  or  boat,  high  and  dry  there  on  the  sea-beach, 
and  which  was  known  to  us  nearly  as  familiarly  as  to 
David  himself,  as  the  odd  dwelling-house  inhabited  by 
Mr.  Peggotty.  All  the  still-life  of  that  beautifully 
clean  and  tidy  interior  we  had  revealed  to  us  again,  as 
of  old :  lockers,  boxes,  table,  Dutch  clock,  chest  of 
drawers — even  tea-tray,  only  that  we  failed  to  hear 


DAVID    COPPERFIELD.  125 

anything  said  about  the  painting  on  the  tea-tray, 
representing  "  a  lady  with  a  parasol,  taking  a  walk 
with  a  military-looking  child,  who  was  trundling  a 
hoop."  The  necessities  of  condensation  in  the  same 
way  restricted  the  definition  of  Mr.  Peggotty's  occu 
pation  in  the  Heading,  to  the  simple  mention  of  the 
fact  that  he  dealt  in  lobsters,  crabs,  and  craw-fish, 
without  any  explanation  at  all  as  to  those  creatures 
being  heaped  together  in  a  little  wooden  out-house 
"in  a  state  of  wonderful  conglomeration  with  one 
another,  and  never  leaving  off  pinching  whatever  they 
laid  hold  of."  Little  Emily  appeared  as  a  beautiful 
young  woman,  and  no  longer  as  the  prattling  lassie 
who,  years  before  had  confided  to  her  playfellow, 
David,  how,  if  ever  she  were  a  lady,  she  would  give 
uncle  Dan,  meaning  Mr.  Peggotty,  "  a  sky-blue  coat, 
with  diamond  buttons,  nankeen  trousers,  a  red  velvet 
waistcoat,  a  cocked  hat,  a  large  gold  watch,  a  silver 
pipe,  and  a  box  of  money."  Mrs.  Gummidge,  as 
became  a  faithful  widow,  was  still  fretting  after  the 
Old  'Un.  Ham,  something  of  Mr.  Peggotty's  own 
build,  as  the  latter  described  him,  "a  good  deal  o'  the 
sou-wester  in  him,  wery  salt,  but  on  the  whole,  a 
honest  sort  of  a  chap,  too,  with  his  'art  in  the  right 
place,"  had  just  made  good  his  betrothal  to  the  little 
creature  he  had  seen  grow  up  there  before  him,  "like 
a  flower,"  when,  at  the  very  opening  of  the  Beading, 
into  the  old  Yarmouth  boat,  walked  "Mas'r  Davy" 
and  his  friend  Steerforth.  Mr.  Peggotty's  explanation 


126  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

to  his  unexpected  but  heartily  welcomed  visitors  as 
to  how  the  engagement  between  Ham  and  Entity,  had 
but  just  then  been  brought  about,  opened  up  before 
the  audience  in  a  few  words  the  whole  scheme  of  the 
tragic  little  dramatic  tale  about  to  be  revealed  to  them 
through  a  series  of  vivid  impersonations. 

The  idiomatic  sentences  of  the  bluff  fisherman,  as  in 
their  racy  vernacular  they  were  blithely  given  utter 
ance  to  by  the  manly  voice  of  the  Reader,  seemed  to 
supply  a  fitting  introduction  to  the  drama,  as  though 
from  the  lips  of  a  Yarmouth  Chorus.  Scarcely  had  the 
social  carouse  there  in  the  old  boat,  on  that  memorable 
evening  of  Steerforth's  introduction,  been  recounted, 
when  the  whole  drift  of  the  story  was  clearly  foreshadowed 
in  the  brief  talk  which  immediately  took  place  between 
him  and  David  as  they  walked  townwards  across  the 
sands  towards  their  hotel.  "  Daisy, — for  though  that's 
not  the  name  your  godfathers  and  godmothers  gave 
you,  you're  such  a  fresh  fellow,  that  it's  the  name  I 
best  like  to  call  you  by — and  I  wish,  I  wish,  I  wish 
you  could  give  it  to  me  !  "  That  of  itself  had  its 
significance.  But  still  more  significant  was  David's 
mention  of  his  looking  in  at  Steerforth's  bed-room  on 
the  following  morning,  before  himself  going  away 
alone,  and  of  his  there  finding  the  handsome  scape 
grace  fast  asleep,  "  lying  easily,  with  his  head  upon  his 
arm,"  as  he  had  often  seen  him  lie  in  the  old  school 
dormitory.  "  Thus  in  this  silent  hour  I  left  him," 
with  mournful  tenderness,  exclaimed  the  Header,  in 


DAVID    COPPEKFIELD.  127 

the  words  and  accents  of  his  young  hero.  "  Never 
more,  O  God  forgive  you,  Steerforth !  to  touch  that 
passive  hand  in  love  and  friendship.  Never,  never 
more  !  "  The  revelation  of  his  treachery,  towards  the 
pretty  little  betrothed  of  the  young  shipwright,  followed 
immediately  afterwards,  on  the  occasion  of  David's 
next  visit,  some  months  later,  to  the  old  boat  on  the 
flats  at  Yarmouth. 

The  wonder  still  is  to  us,  now  that  we  are  recalling 
to  mind  the  salient  peculiarities  of  this  Beading,  as  we 
do  so,  turning  over  leaf  by  leaf  the  marked  copy  of  it, 
from  which  the  Novelist  read  ;  the  wonder,  we  repeat, 
still  is  to  us  how,  in  that  exquisite  scene,  the  very  words 
that  have  always  moved  us  most  in  the  novel' were 
struck  out  in  the  delivery,  are  rigidly  scored  through 
here  with  blue  inkmarks  in  the  reading  copy,  by  the 
hand  of  the  Keader-Novelist.  Those  words  we  mean 
which  occur,  where  Ham,  having  on  his  arrival,  made 
a  movement  as  if  Em'ly  were  outside,  asked  Mas'r 
Davy  to  "  come  out  a  minute,"  only  for  him,  on  his 
doing  so,  to  find  that  Em'ly  was  not  there,  and  that 
Ham  was  deadly  pale.  "  Ham  !  what's  the  matter  ?  " 
was  gasped  out  in  the  Beading.  But — not  what  follows, 
immediately  on  that,  in  the  original  narrative  :  "  '  Mas'r 
Davy  ! '  Oh,  for  his  broken  heart,  how  dreadfully  he 
wept !  "  Nor  yet  the  sympathetic  exclamations  of 
David,  who,  in  the  novel,  describes  himself  as  para 
lysed  by  the  sight  of  such  grief,  not  knowing  what  he 
thought  or  what  he  dreaded  ;  only  able  to  look  at  him, 


128  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

—yet  crying  out  to  him  the  next  moment,  "  Ham ! 
Poor,  good  fellow !  For  heaven's  sake  tell  me  what's 
the  matter?"  Nothing  of  this:  only—  "My  love, 
Mas'r  Davy — the  pride  and  hope  of  my  'art,  her  that 
I'd  have  died  for,  and  would  die  for  now — she's 
gone  !  "  "  Gone  ?  "  "  Em'ly's  run  away !  "  Ham, 
not  then  adding  in  the  Heading,  "  Oh,  Mas'r  Davy, 
think  hoiv  she's  run  away,  when  I  pray  my  good  and 
gracious  God  to  kill  her  (her  that  is  so  dear  ahove  all 
things)  sooner  than  let  her  come  to  ruin  and  disgrace  !  " 
Yet,  for  all  that,  in  spite  of  these  omissions — it  can 
hardly  by  any  chance  have  been  actually  by  reason  of 
them — the  delivery  of  the  whole  scene  was  singularly 
powerful  and  affecting.  Especially  in  the  represen 
tation  of  Mr.  Peggotty's  profound  grief,  under  what  is 
to  him  so  appalling  a  calamity.  Especially  also  in  the 
revelation  of  Mrs.  Gummidge's  pity  for  him,  her  grati 
tude  to  him,  and  her  womanly  tender-heartedness. 

In  charming  relief  to  the  sequel  of  this  tragic 
incident  of  the  bereavement  of  the  Peggottys,  came 
David's  love  passages  with  Dora,  and  his  social 
unbendings  with  Mr.  Micawber.  Eegaling  the  latter 
inimitable  personage,  and  his  equally  inimitable  wife, 
together  with  David's  old  schoolfellow,  Traddles, 
on  a  banquet  of  boiled  leg  of  mutton,  very  red  inside 
and  very  pale  outside,  as  well  as  upon  a  delusive 
pigeon-pie,  the  crust  of  which  was  like  a  disappointing 
phrenological  head,  "  full  of  lumps  and  bumps,  with 
nothing  particular  underneath,"  David  afforded  us 


DAVID    COPPERFIELD.  329 

the  opportunity  of  realising,  within  a  very  brief 
interval,  something  at  least  of  the  abundant  humour 
associated  with  Mrs.  Micawber's  worldly  wisdom,  and 
Mr.  Micawber's  ostentatious  impecuniosity.  A  word, 
that  last,  it  always  seems  to  us — describing  poverty,  as 
it  does,  with  such  an  air  of  pomp — especially  provided 
beforehand  for  Mr.  Micawber  (out  of  a  prophetic 
anticipation  or  foreknowledge  of  him)  by  the  dictionary. 

The  mere  opening  of  the  evening's  entertainment  at 
David  Copperfield's  chambers  on  this  occasion,  en 
able  d  the  Humorist  to  elicit  preliminary  roars  of 
laughter  from  his  audience  by  his  very  manner  of 
saying,  with  a  deliciously  ridiculous  prolongation 
of  the  liquid  consonant  forming  the  initial  of  the  last 
word — "  As  to  Mrs.  Micawber,  I  don't  know  whether 
it  was  the  effect  of  the  cap,  or  the  lavender  water,  or 
the  pins,  or  the  fire,  or  the  wax-candles,  but  she  came 
out  of  my  room  comparatively  speaking  1-1-lovely !  " 

As  deliciously  ridiculous  was  the  whole  scene 
between  Dora  and  David,  where  the  latter,  at  length, 
takes  courage  to  make  his  proposal — "Jip  barking 
madly  all  the  time " — Dora  crying  the  while  and 
trembling.  David's  eloquence  increasing,  the  more  he 
raved,  the  more  Jip  barked — each,  in  his  own  way, 
getting  more  mad  every  moment !  Even  when  they 
had  got  married  by  licence,  "the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  invoking  a  blessing,  and  doing  it  as  cheap 
as  it  could  possibly  be  expected,"  their  domestic 
experiences  were  sources  of  unbounded  merriment. 


130  CHARLES   DICKENS    AS   A    READER. 

As,  for  example,  in  connection  with  their  servant  girl's 
cousin  in  the  Life  Guards,  "with  such  long  legs  that 
he  looked  like  the  afternoon  shadow  of  somebody 
else."  Finally,  closing  the  whole  of  this  ingenious 
epitome  of  the  original  narrative,  came  that  grand  and 
wonderfully  realistic  description  of  the  stupendous 
storm  upon  the  beach  at  Yarmouth,  upon  the  extraor 
dinary  power  of  which  as  a  piece  of  declamation  we 
have  already  at  some  length  commented.  There,  in 
the  midst  of  the  dying  horrors  of  that  storm — there, 
on  those  familiar  sands,  where  Mas'r  Davy  and  Little 
Em'ly  had  so  often  looked  for  shells  when  they  were 
children,  on  the  very  spot  where  some  lighter  frag 
ments  of  the  old  boat,  blown  down  the  night  before, 
had  been  scattered  by  the  tempest,  David  Copperfield 
was  heard  describing,  in  the  last  mournful  sentence  of 
the  Reading,  how  he  saw  him  lying  with  his  curly  head 
upon  his  arm,  as  he  had  often  seen  him  lie  when  they 
were  at  school  together. 


THE  CRICKET  ON  THE  HEARTH. 


A  FAIRY  Tale  of  Home  was  here  related,  that  in 
its  graceful  and  fantastic  freaks  of  fancy  might  have 
been  imagined  by  the  Danish  poet,  Hans  Christian 
Andersen.  In  its  combination  of  simple  pathos  and 
genial  drollery,  however,  it  was  a  story  that  no  other 
could  by  possibility  have  told  than  the  great  English 
Humorist.  If  there  was  something  really  akin  to  the 
genius  of  Andersen,  in  the  notion  of  the  Cricket  with 
its  shrill,  sharp,  piercing  voice  resounding  through  the 
house,  and  seeming  to  twinkle  in  the  outer  darkness 
like  a  star,  Dickens,  and  no  other  could,  by  any  chance, 
have  conjured  up  the  forms  of  either  Caleb  Plummer, 
or  Gruff-and-Tackleton.  The  cuckoo  on  the  Dutch 
clock,  now  like  a  spectral  voice,  now  hiccoughing  on 
the  assembled  company,  as  if  he  had  got  drunk  for 
joy;  the  little  haymaker  over  the  dial  mowing  down 
imaginary  grass,  jerking  right  and  left  with  his  scythe 
in  front  of  a  Moorish  palace ;  the  hideous,  hairy,  red- 
eyed  jacks-in-boxes ;  the  flies  in  the  Noah's  arks,  that 
"  an't  on  that  scale  neither  as  compared  with  ele 
phants  ; "  the  giant  masks,  having  a  certain  furtive 

K    2    • 


332     CHARLES  DICKENS  AS  A  READER. 

leer,  "  safe  to  destroy  the  peace  of  mind  of  any  young 
gentlemen  between  the  ages  of  six  and  eleven,  for  the 
whole  Christmas  or  Midsummer  vacation,"  were  all  of 
them  like  dreams  of  the  Danish  poet,  coloured  into  a 
semblance  of  life  by  the  grotesque  humour  of  the  Eng 
lish  Novelist.  But  dear  little  Dot,  who  was  rather  of 
the  dumpling's  shape — "  but  I  don't  myself  object  to 
that  " — and  good,  lumbering  John  Peerybingle,  her 
husband,  often  so  near  to  something  or  another  very 
clever,  according  to  his  own  account,  and  Boxer,  the 
carrier's  dog,  "  with  that  preposterous  nothing  of  a  fag- 
end  of  a  tail  of  his,  describing  circles  of  barks  round 
the  horse,  making  savage  rushes  at  his  mistress,  and 
facetiously  bringing  himself  to  sudden  stops," — all  bear 
upon  them  unmistakably  the  sign-manual  of  Boz. 

As  originally  recounted  in  the  Christmas  story-book, 
the  whole  narrative  was  comprised  within  a  very  few 
pages,  portioned  out  into  three  little  chirps.  Yet  the 
letter-press  was  illustrated  profusely  by  pencils  as 
eminent  as  those  of  Daniel  Maclise,  of  Clarkson  Stan- 
field,  of  Richard  Doyle,  of  John  Leech,  of  Sir  Edwin 
Landseer.  The  charming  little  fairy  tale,  moreover, 
was  inscribed  to  Lord  Jeffrey.  It  was  a  favourite  of 
his,  as  it  still  is  of  many  another  critic  north  and  south 
of  the  Tweed,  light,  nay  trivial,  though  the  materials 
out  of  which  the  homely  apologue  is  composed.  It 
can  hardly  be  wondered  at,  however,  remembering 
how  less  than  four  years  prior  to  its  first  publication, 
a  literary  reviewer,  no  less  formidable  than  Professor 


THE    CRICKET   ON   THE    HEARTH.  133 

Wilson — while  abstaining,  in  his  then  capacity  as  chair 
man  of  the  public  banquet  given  to  Charles  Dickens 
at  Edinburgh,  from  attempting,  as  he  said,  anything 
like  "  a  critical  delineation  of  our  illustrious  guest  " — 
nevertheless,  added  emphatically,  "  I  cannot  but  ex 
press  in  a  few  ineffectual  words  the  delight  which  every 
human  bosom  feels  in  the  benign  spirit  which  pervades 
all  his  creations."  Christopher  North  thus  further 
expressed  his  admiration  then  of  the  young  English 
Novelist — "  How  kind  and  good  a  man  he  is,"  the  great 
Critic  exclaimed,  laying  aside  for  a  while  the  crutch 
with  which  he  had  so  often,  in  the  Ambrosian  Nights, 
brained  many  an  arrant  pretender  to  the  title  of 
genius  or  of  philanthropist,  and  turning  his  lion-like 
eyes,  at  the  moment  beaming  only  with  cordiality,  on 
the  then  youthful  face  of  Dickens, — "  How  kind  and 
good  a  man  he  is  I  need  not  say,  nor  what  strength  of 
genius  he  has  acquired  by  that  profound  sympathy  with 
his  fellow-creatures,  whether  in  prosperity  and  happi 
ness,  or  overwhelmed  with  unfortunate  circumstances." 
Purely  and  simply,  in  his  capacity  as  an  imaginative 
writer,  the  Novelist  had  already  (then  in  the  June  of 
1841)  impressed  thus  powerfully  the  heart  and  judg 
ment  of  John  Wilson,  of  Christopher  North,  of  the 
inexorable  Rhadamanthus  of  Blackicood  and  the 
"  Noctes."  Afterwards,  but  a  very  little  more  than 
two  years  afterwards,  came  the  "  Carol."  The  follow 
ing  winter  rang  out  the  "  Chimes."  The  Christmas 
after  that  was  heard  the  chirping  of  the  "  Cricket." 


134-  CHARLES   DICKENS  AS   A   READER. 

Four  years  previously  Professor  Wilson,  on  the  occa 
sion  referred  to,  had  remarked  of  him  most  truly, — "He 
has  not  heen  deterred  by  the  aspect  of  vice  and  wicked 
ness,  and  misery  and  guilt,  from  seeking  a  spirit  of 
good  in  things  evil,  but  has  endeavoured  by  the  might 
of  genius  to  transmute  what  was  base  into  what  is 
precious  as  the  beaten  gold ; "  observing,  indeed,  yet 
further — "  He  has  mingled  in  the  common  walks  of 
life ;  he  has  made  himself  familiar  with  the  lower 
orders  of  society."  As  if  in  supplementary  and  con 
clusive  justification  of  those  words,  Dickens,  within 
less  than  five  years  afterwards,  had  woven  his  graceful 
and  pathetic  fancies  about  the  homely  joys  and  sor 
rows  of  Bob  Cratchit,  of  Toby  Veck,  and  of  Caleb 
Plummer,  of  a  little  Clerk,  a  little  Ticket-porter,  and  a 
little  Toy-maker.  His  pen  at  these  times  was  like  the 
wand  of  Cinderella's  fairy  godmother,  changing  the 
cucumber  into  a  gilded  chariot,  and  the  lizards  into 
glittering  retainers. 

At  the  commencement  of  this  Reading  but  very 
little  indeed  was  said  about  the  Cricket,  hardly  any 
thing  at  all  about  the  kettle.  Yet,  as  everybody  knows, 
"  the  kettle  began  it  "  in  the  story-book.  The  same 
right  of  precedence  was  accorded  to  the  kettle  in  the 
author's  delivery  of  his  fairy  tale  by  word  of  mouth, 
but  otherwise  its  comfortable  purring  song  was  in  a 
manner  hushed.  One  heard  nothing  about  its  first 
appearance  on  the  hearth,  when  "  it  would  lean  for 
ward  with  a  drunken  air,  and  dribble,  a  very  idiot  of  a 


THE    CRICKET    ON    THE    HEARTH.  135 

kettle,"  any  more  than  of  its  final  paean,  when,  after  its 
iron  body  hummed  and  stirred  upon  the  fire,  the  lid 
itself,  the  recently  rebellious  lid,  performed  a  sort  of 
jig,  and  clattered  "like  a  deaf  and  dumb  young  cymbal 
that  had  never  known  the  use  of  its  twin  brother." 
Here,  again,  in  fact,  as  with  so  many  other  of  these 
Headings  from  his  own  books  by  our  Novelist,  the 
countless  good  things  scattered  abundantly  up  and 
•down  the  original  descriptions — inimitable  touches  of 
humour  that  had  each  of  them,  on  the  appreciative 
palate,  the  effect  of  that  verbal  bon-bon,  the  bon-mot — 
were  sacrificed  inexorably,  apparently  without  a  qualm, 
and  certainly  by  wholesale.  What  the  Reader  looked 
to  throughout,  was  the  human  element  in  his  imagin 
ings  when  they  were  to  be  impersonated. 

Let  but  one  of  these  tid-bits  be  associated  directly  with 
the  fanciful  beings  introduced  in  the  gradual  unfolding  of 
the  incidents,  and  it  might  remain  there  untouched. 
Thus,  for  example,  when  the  Carrier's  arrival  at  his  home 
came  to  be  mentioned,  and  the  Header  related  how 
John  Peerybingle,  being  much  taller,  as  well  as  much 
older  than  his  wife,  little  Dot,  "  had  to  stoop  a  long 
way  down  to  kiss  her" — the  words  that  followed 
thereupon  were  happily  not  omitted:  "but  she  was 
worth  the  trouble, — six  foot  six  it'itk  the  lumbago  might 
have  done  it"  Several  of  John's  choicest — ail-but 
jokes  were  also  retained.  As,  where  Dot  is  objecting 
to  be  called  by  that  pet  diminutive,  "  '  Why,  what 
else  are  you  ? '  returned  John,  looking  down  upon  her 


126  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

with  a  smile,  and  giving  her  waist  as  light  a  squeeze 
as  his  huge  hand  and  arm  could  give,  *  A  dot  and  '- 
here  he  glanced  at  the  bab}" — 'a  dot  and  carry'-  — I 
won't  say  it,  for  fear  I  should  spoil  it ;  but  I  was  very 
near  a  joke.  I  don't  know  as  ever  I  was  nearer." 
Tilly  Slowboy  and  her  charge,  the  baby,  were,  upon 
every  mention  of  them  in  the  Beading,  provocative  of 
abundant  laughter.  The  earliest  allusion  to  Miss- 
Slowboy  recording  these  characteristic  circumstances- 
in  regard  to  her  costume,  that  it  "  was  remarkable  for 
the  partial  development,  on  all  possible  and  impossible 
occasions,  of  some  flannel  vestment  of  a  singular  struc 
ture,  also  for  affording  glimpses  in  the  region  of  the 
back  of  a  pair  of  stays,  in  colour  a  dead  green."  On 
the  introduction  of  the  Mysterious  Stranger — appa 
rently  all  but  stone  deaf — from  the  Carrier's  cart, 
where  he  had  been  forgotten,  the  comic  influence  of 
the  Reading  became  irresistible. 

STRAXGEH  (on  noticing  Dot)  interrogatively  to- 
John.—"  Your  Daughter  ?  " 

CARRIER,  with  the  voice  of  a  boatswain. — "  Wife." 

STRANGER,  with  his  hand  to  his  ear,  being  not  quite 
certain  that  he  has  caught  it. — "  Niece  ?  " 

CARRIER,  with  a  roar. — "  Wife." 

Satisfied  at  last  upon  that  point,  the  stranger  asks- 
of  John,  as  a  new  matter  of  curiosity  to  him,  "  Baby, 
yours ? "  Whereupon  the  Header,  as  John,  "gave  a 
gigantic  nod,  equivalent  to  an  answer  in  the  affirma 
tive,  delivered  through  a  speaking-trumpet."  Stranger,. 


THE    CRICKET    ON    THE    HEARTH.  137 

still  unsatisfied,  inquiring,  —  "  Girl?"  —  "  Bo-o-oy  !  " 
was  bellowed  back  by  John  Peerybingle.  It  was  when 
Mrs.  Peerybingle  herself  took  up  the  parable,  however, 
that  the  merriment  excited  among  the  audience  became 
fairly  irrepressible.  Scarcely  had  the  nearly  stone- 
deaf  stranger  added,  in  regard  to  the  "  Bo-o-oy," — 
"Also  very  young,  eh?"  (a  comment  previously  applied 
by  him  to  Dot)  when  the  Reader,  as  Mrs.  Peerybingle, 
instantly  struck  in,  at  the  highest  pitch  of  his  voice, 
that  is,  of  her  voice  (the  comic  effect  of  this  being  simply 
indescribable) — "  Two  months  and  three  da-ays  ! 
Vaccinated  six  weeks  ago-o  !  Took  very  fine-ly  !  Con 
sidered,  by  the  doctor,  a  remarkably  beautiful  chi-ild  ! 
Equal  to  the  general  run  of  children  at  five  months 
o-old  !  Takes  notice  in  a  way  quite  won-der-ful !  May 
seem  impossible  to  you,  but  feels  his  feet  al-ready  !  " 
Directly  afterwards,  Caleb  Plummer  appeared  upon 
the  scene,  little  imagining  that  in  the  Mysterious 
Strangerwould.be  discovered,  later  on,  under  the  disguise 
of  that  nearly  stone-deaf  old  gentleman,  his  (Caleb's) 
own  dear  boy,  Edward,  supposed  to  have  died  in  the 
golden  South  Americas.  Little  Caleb's  inquiry  of  Mrs. 
Peerybingle, — "You  couldn't  have  the  goodness  to  let 
me  pinch  Boxer's  tail,  Mum,  for  half  a  moment,  could 
you?"  was  one  of  the  welcome  whimsicalities  of  the 
Reading.  "  Why,  Caleb  !  what  a  question  !  "  naturally 
enough  was  Dot's  instant  exclamation.  "  Oh,  never 
mind,  Mum!"  said  the  little  toy-maker,  apologetically, 
"  He  mightn't  like  it  perhaps  " — adding,  by  way  of 


138  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

explanation — "  There's  a  small  order  just  come  in,  for 
barking  dogs ;  and  I  should  wish  to  go  as  close  to 
Natur'  as  I  could,  for  sixpence  !"  Caleb's  employer, 
Tackleton,  in  his  large  green  cape  and  bull-headed 
looking  mahogany  tops,  was  then  described  as  enter 
ing  pretty  much  in  the  manner  of  what  one  might 
suppose  to  be  that  of  an  ogrish  toy-merchant.  His 
character  came  out  best  perhaps — meaning,  in  another 
sense,  that  is,  at  its  worst — when  the  fairy  spirit  of 
John's  house,  the  Cricket,  was  heard  chirping ;  and 
Tackleton  asked,  grumpily, — "Why  don't  you  kill  that 
cricket  ?  I  would  !  I  always  do  !  I  hate  their  noise  !  " 
John  exclaiming,  in  amazement,  —  "You  kill  your 
crickets,  eh  ?  "  "  Scrunch  'an,  sir  !  "  quoth  Tackleton. 
One  of  the  most  wistfully  curious  thoughts  uttered 
in  the  whole  of  the  Reading  was  the  allusion  to  the 
original  founder  of  the  toy- shop  of  Gruff  and  Tackle  - 
ton,  where  it  was  remarked  (such  a  quaint  epitome 
of  human  life !)  that  under  that  same  crazy  roof, 
beneath  which  Caleb  Plummer  and  Bertha,  his  blind 
daughter,  found  shelter  as  their  humble  home, — "  the 
Gruff  before  last  had,  in  a  small  wa}r,  made  toys  for 
a  generation  of  old  boys  and  girls,  who  had  played 
with  them,  and  found  them  out,  and  broken  them, 
and  gone  to  sleep."  Another  wonderfully  comic  minor 
character  was  introduced  later  on  in  the  eminently 
ridiculous  person  of  old  Mrs.  Fielding — in  regard  to 
in-door  gloves,  a  foreshadowing  of  Mrs.  Wilfer — in  the 
matter  of  her  imaginary  losses  through  the  indigo 


THE    CRICKET    ON    THE    HEARTH.  130 

trade,  a  spectral  precursor,  or  dim  prototype,  as  one 
might  say,  of  Mrs.  Pipchin  and  the  Peruvian  mines. 
Throughout  the  chief  part  of  the  dreamy,  dramatic 
little  story,  the  various  characters,  it  will  be  remem 
bered,  are  involved  in  a  mazy  entanglement  of  cross 
purposes.  Mystery  sometimes,  pathos  often,  terror 
for  one  brief  interval,  rose  from  the  Heading  of  the 
"  Home  Fairy-Tale."  There  was  a  subdued  tender 
ness  which  there  was  no  resisting  in  the  revelation 
to  the  blind  girl,  Bertha,  of  the  illusions  in  which 
she  had  been  lapped  for  years  by  her  sorcerer  of  a 
father,  poor  little  Caleb,  the  toy-maker.  There  was  at 
once  a  tearful  and  a  laughing  earnestness  that  took 
the  Reader's  audience  captive,  not  by  any  means  un 
willingly,  when  little  Dot  was,  at  the  last,  represented 
as  "  clearing  it  all  up  at  home "  (indirectly,  to  the 
great  honour  of  the  Cricket's  reputation,  by  the  way) 
to  her  burly  husband — good,  stupid,  worthy,  "  clumsy 
man  in  general," — John  Peerybingle,  the  Carrier.  The 
one  inconsistent  person  in  the  whole  story,  it  must  be 
admitted,  was  Tackleton,  who  turned  out  at  the 
very  end  to  be  rather  a  good  fellow  than  otherwise. 
Fittingly  enough,  in  the  Reading  as  in  the  book,  when 
the  "  Fairy  Tale  of  Home  "  was  related  to  its  close, 
when  Dot  and  all  the  rest  were  spoken  of  as  vanished, 
a  broken  child's-toy,  we  were  told,  yet  lay  upon  the 
ground,  and  still  upon  the  hearth  was  heard  the  song 
of  the  Cricket. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


A  VARIETY  of  attractive  Headings  might  readily  have 
been  culled  from  Nicholas  Nickleby's  Life  and  Ad 
ventures.  His  comical  experiences  as  a  strolling- 
player  in  the  Company  of  the  immortal  Crummleses — 
his  desperate  encounter  with  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  on 
the  footboard  of  the  cabriolet — his  exciting  rescue  of 
Madeline  from  an  unholy  alliance  with  Gride,  the 
miser,  on  the  very  morning  fixed  for  the  revolting 
marriage — his  grotesque  association  for  a  while  with 
the  Kenwigses  and  their  uncle  Lillivick — his  cordial 
relations  with  the  Brothers  Cheeryble  and  old  Tim 
Linkinwater — any  one  of  these  incidents  in  the  career 
of  the  most  high  spirited  of  all  the  young  heroes  of 
our  Novelist,  would  have  far  more  than  simply  justified 
its  selection  as  the  theme  of  one  of  these  illustrative 
entertainments.  Instead  of  choosing  any  one  of  those 
later  episodes  in  the  fictitious  history  of  Nicholas 
Nickleby,  however,  the  author  of  that  enthralling 
romance  of  everyday  life,  picked  out,  by  preference,  the 
earliest  of  all  his  young  hero's  experiences — those  in 
which,  at  nineteen  years  of  age,  he  was  brought  into 


NICHOLAS    NICKLEBY. 

temporary  entanglement  with  the  domestic  economy  of 
Dotheboys  Hall,  and  at  the  last  into  personal  con 
flict  with  its  one-eyed  principal,  the  rascally  Yorkshire 
school-master. 

The  Gadshill  collection  of  thin  octavos,  compris 
ing  the  whole  series  of  Headings,  includes  within  it  two 
copies  of  "  Mrs.  Gamp  "  and  two  copies  of  "  Nicholas 
Nickleby."  Whereas,  on  comparing  the  duplicates 
of  Mrs.  Gamp,  the  two  versions  appear  to  be  so 
slightly  different  that  they  are  all  but  identical,  a 
marked  contrast  is  observable  at  a  glance  between  the 
two  Nicklebys.  Each  Reading  is  descriptive,  it  is 
true,  of  his  sayings  and  doings  at  the  Yorkshire 
school.  But,  even  externally,  one  of  the  two  copies  is 
marked  "  Short  Time," — the  love-passages  with  Miss 
S queers  being  entirely  struck  out,  and  no  mention 
whatever  being  made  of  John  Browdie,  the  corn-factor. 
The  wretched  school,  the  sordid  rascal  who  keeps  it, 
Mrs.  Squeers,  poor,  forlorn  Smike,  and  a  few  of  his 
scarecrow  companions — these,  in  the  short-time  version, 
and  these  alone,  constitute  the  young  usher's  surround 
ings.  In  here  recalling  to  recollection  the  "  Nicholas 
Nickleby "  Reading  at  all,  however,  we  select,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  the  completer  version,  the  one  for 
which  the  generality  of  hearers  had  an  evident  prefer 
ence  :  the  abbreviated  version  being  always  regarded 
as  capital,  so  far  as  it  went ;  but  even  at  the  best,  with 
all  the  go  and  dash  of  its  rapid  delivery,  insufficient. 

Everything,   even,   we  should  imagine,  to  one  un- 


142  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    HEADER. 

acquainted  with  the  novel,  was  ingeniously  explained 
by   the    Reader   in   a    sentence    or   two    at    starting. 
Nicholas    Nickleby   was    described   as   arriving   early 
one  November  morning,    at  the  Saracen's   Head,    to 
join,   in  his  new   capacity   (stripling  though  he   was) 
as  scholastic  assistant,  Mr.  Squeers,  "  the  cheap — the 
terribly  cheap  "  Yorkshire  schoolmaster.     The  words, 
just  given  in  inverted  commas  are  those  written  in 
blue  ink  in  the  Novelist's  handwriting  on  the  margin 
of  his  longer  Reading  copy.     As  also  are  the  following 
words,   epitomising   in  a  breath    the   position  of  the 
young   hero   when   the    story  commences — "Inexpe 
rienced,  sanguine,  and  thrown  upon  the  world  with 
no    adviser,   and   his  bread  to  win,"  the  manuscript 
interpolation  thus  intimates  :  the  letterpress  then  re 
lating   in   its   integrity    that   Nicholas    had    engaged 
himself  as  tutor  at  Mr.  Wackford  Squeers's  academy, 
on  the  strength  of  the  memorable  advertisement  in  the 
London  newspapers.    The  advertisement,  that  is,  com 
prising  within  it  the  long  series  of  accomplishments 
imparted  to  the  students  at  Dotheboys  Hall,  including 
"  single  -stick  "   (if  required),   together  with   "fortifi 
cation,  and  every  other  branch  of  classical  literature." 
The    Reader   laying    particular   stress,    among   other 
items   in   the   announcement,  upon   "  No   extras,  110 
vacations,  and  diet  unparalleled;"  and  upon  the  finish 
ing  touch  (having  especial  reference  to  the  subject  in 
hand),  "  An  able  assistant  wanted  :  annual  salary,  £5  I 
A  master  of  arts  would  be  preferred  !  "     Immediately 


NICHOLAS   NICKLEBY.  143 

after  this,  in  the  Reading,  came  the  description  of 
Mr.  Squeers,  several  of  the  particulars  in  regard  to 
whose  villainous  appearance  always  told  wonderfully  : 
as,  where  it  was  said  "he  had  but  one  eye,  and  the 
popular  prejudice  runs  in  favour  of  two ;  "  or, 
again,  where  in  reference  to  his  attire — it  having  been 
mentioned  that  his  coat-sleeves  were  a  great  deal  too 
long  and  his  trousers  a  great  deal  too  short — it  was, 
added  that  "he  appeared  ill  at  ease  in  his  clothes,  and 
as  if  he  were  in  a  perpetual  state  of  astonishment  at 
finding  himself  so  respectable."  Listening  to  the 
Header,  we  were  there,  in  the  coffee-room  of  the 
Saracen's  Head — the  rascal  Squeers  in  the  full  enjoy 
ment  of  his  repast  of  hot  toast  and  cold  round  of 
beef,  the  while  five  little  boys  sat  opposite  hungrily  and 
thirstily  expectant  of  their  share  in  a  miserable  meal 
of  two-penn'orth  of  milk  and  thick  bread-  and  butter 
for  three.  "  Just  fill  that  mug  up  with  lukewarm 
water,  William,  will  you?  "  "To  the  wery  top,  sir  ? 
Why  the  milk  will  be  drownded  !  "  "  Serve  it  right  for 
be'my  so  dear  !  "  Squeers  adding  with  a  chuckle,  as  he 
pounded  away  at  his  own  coffee  and  viands, — "  Con 
quer  your  passions,  boys,  and  don't  be  eager  after 
wittles."  To  see  the  Reader  as  Squeers,  stirring 
the  mug  of  lukewarm  milk  and  water,  and  then 
smacking  his  lips  with  an  affected  relish  after  tasting 
a  spoonful  of  it,  before  reverting  to  his  own  fare  of 
buttered  toast  and  beef,  was  to  be  there  with  Nicholas, 
n  spectator  on  that  wintry  morning  in  the  Snow  Hill 


CHARLES   DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

Tavern,  watching  the  guttling  pedagogue  and  the  five 
little  famished  expectants.  Only  when  Squeers,  imme 
diately  before  the  signal  for  the  coach  starting,  wiped 
his  mouth,  with  a  self-satisfied  "  Thank  God  for  a 
good  breakfast,"  was  the  mug  rapidly  passed  from 
mouth  to  mouth  at  once  ravenously  and  tantalizingly. 
The  long  and  bitter  journey  on  the  north  road, 
through  the  snow,  was  barely  referred  to  in  the  Head 
ing  ;  due  mention,  however,  being  made,  and  always 
tellingly,  of  Mr.  Squeers's  habit  of  getting  down  at  nearly 
every  stage — "  to  stretch  his  legs,  he  said, — and  as  he 
always  came  back  with  a  very  red  nose,  and  composed 
himself  to  sleep  directly,  the  stretching  seemed  to 
answer."  Immediately  on  the  wayfarers'  arrival  at 
Dotheboys,  Mrs.  Squeers,  arrayed  in  a  dimity  night- 
jacket,  herself  a  head  taller  than  Mr.  Squeers,  was 
always  introduced  with  great  effect,  as  seizing  her 
Squeery  by  the  throat  and  giving  him  two  loud  kisses 
in  rapid  succession,  like  a  postman's  knock.  The 
audience  then  scarcely  had  time  to  laugh  over  the  inter 
change  of  questions  and  answers  between  the  happy 
couple,  as  to  the  condition  of  the  cows  and  pigs,  and, 
last  of  all,  the  boys,  ending  with  Madame's  intimation 
that  "young  Pitcher's  had  a  fever,"  followed  up  by 
Squeers's  characteristic  exclamation,  "No!  damn 
that  chap,  he's  always  at  something  of  that  sort" — 
when  there  came  the  first  glimpse  of  poor  Smike,  in  a 
skeleton  suit,  and  large  boots  originally  made  for  tops, 
too  patched  and  ragged  now  for  a  beggar;  around  his 


NICHOLAS    NICKLEBY.  145 

throat  "  a  tattered  child's  frill  only  half  concealed  by 
a  coarse  man's  neckerchief."  Anxiously  observing 
Squeers,  as  he  emptied  his  overcoat  of  letters  and 
papers,  the  boy  did  this,  we  were  told,  with  an  air  so 
dispirited  and  hopeless,  that  Nicholas  could  hardly  bear- 
to  watch  him.  "  Have  you — did  anybody — has  nothing 
been  heard — about  me?"  were  then  (in  the  faintest, 
frightened  voice !)  the  first  stammered  utterances  of 
the  wretched  drudge.  Bullied  into  silence  by  the 
brutal  schoolmaster,  Smike  limped  away  with  a 
vacant  smile,  when  we  heard  the  female  scoundrel 
in  the  dimity  night-jacket  saying, — "I'll  tell  you 
what,  Squeers,  I  think  that  young  chap's  turning 
silly." 

Inducted  into  the  loathsome  school-room  on  the 
following  morning  by  Squeers  himself,  Nicholas,  first  of 
all,  we  were  informed,  witnessed  the  manner  in  which 
that  arrant  rogue  presided  over  "  the  first  class  in 
English  spelling  and  philosophy,"  practically  illus 
trating  his  mode  of  tuition  by  setting  the  scholars  to 
clean  the  w-i-n  win,  d-e-r-s  ders,  winders — to  weed  the 
garden — to  rub  down  the  horse,  or  get  rubbed  down 
themselves  if  they  didn't  do  it  well.  Nicholas  assisted 
in  the  afternoon,  moreover,  at  the  report  given  by  Mr. 
Squeers  on  his  return  homewards  after  his  half- 
yearly  visit  to  the  metropolis.  Beginning,  though  this 
last-mentioned  part  of  the  Reading  did,  with  Squeers's 
ferocious  slash  on  the  desk  with  his  cane,  and  his 
announcement,  in  the  midst  of  a  death-like  silence 


J46  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

"  Let  any  boy  speak  a  word  without  leave,  and  I'll  take 
the  skin  off  that  boy's  back  !  "  many  of  the  particulars 
given  immediately  afterwards  by  the  Reader  were,  in 
spite  of  the  surrounding  misery,  irresistibly  provoca 
tive  of  laughter.  Ample  justification  for  this,  in 
truth,  is  very  readily  adduceable.  Mr.  Squeers  having, 
through  his  one  eye,  made  a  mental  abstract  of 
Cobbey's  letter,  for  example,  Cobbey  and  the  whole 
school  were  thus  feelingly  informed  of  its  contents — 
"  Oh  !  Cobbey's  grandmother  is  dead,  and  his  uncle 
John  has  took  to  drinking.  Which  is  all  the  news  his 
sister  sends,  except  eighteen-pence — which  will  just 
pay  for  that  broken  square  of  glass  !  Mrs.  Squeers, 
my  dear,  will  you  take  the  money  ?  "  Another  while, 
Graymarsh's  maternal  aunt,  who  "thinks  Mrs.  Squeers 
must  be  a  angel,"  and  that  Mr.  Squeers  is  too  good  for 
this  world,  "would  have  sent  the  two  pairs  of  stock 
ings,  as  desired,  but  is  short  of  money,  so  forwards  a 
tract  instead,"  and  so  on;  "  Ah  !  a  delightful  letter — 
very  affecting,  indeed !  "  quoth  Squeers.  "  It  was 
affecting  in  one  sense!"  observed  the  Reader;  "for 
Graymarsh's  maternal  aunt  was  strongly  supposed  by 
her  more  intimate  friends  to  be  his  maternal  parent !  " 
Perhaps  the  epistle  from  Mobbs's  mother-in-law  was 
the  best  of  all,  however — the  old  lady  who  "  took  to  her 
bed  on  hearing  that  he  wouldn't  eat  fat  ;  "  and  who 
"  wishes  to  know  by  an  early  post  where  he  expects  to 
go  to,  if  he  quarrels  with  his  vittles  ?  "  adding,  "  This 
was  told  her  in  the  London  newspapers — not  by  Mr. 


NICHOLAS   NICKLEBY.  147 

Squeers,  for  he  is  too  kind  and  too  good  to  set  any 
body  against  anybody !  " 

As  an  interlude,  overflowing  with  fun,  came  Miss 
Squeers's  tea-drinking — the  result  of  her  suddenly 
falling  in  love  with  the  new  usher,  and  that  chiefly 
by  reason  of  the  straightness  of  his  legs,  "the 
general  run  of  legs  at  Dotheboys  Hall  being  crooked." 
How  John  Browdie  (with  his  hair  damp  from  washing) 
appeared  upon  the  occasion  in  a  clean  shirt  — 
"whereof  the  collars  might  have  belonged  to  some 
giant  ancestor," — and  greeted  the  assembled  company, 
including  his  intended,  Tilda  Price,  "  with  a  grin  that 
even  the  collars  could  not  conceal,"  the  creator  of  the 
worthy  Yorkshireman  went  on  to  describe,  with  a  gusto 
akin  to  the  relish  with  which  every  utterance  of  John 
Browdie's  was  caught  up  by  the  listeners.  Whether 
he  spoke  in  good  humour  or  in  ill  humour,  the  burly 
cornfactor  was  equally  delightful.  One  while  saying, 
laughingly,  to  Nicholas,  across  the  bread-and-butter 
plate  which  they  had  just  been  emptying  between  them, 
"Ye  wean't  get  bread-and-butther  ev'ry  neight,  I  expect, 
mun.  Ecod,  they  dean't  put  too  much  intif  'em.  Ye '11  be 
nowt  but  skeen  and  boans  if  you  stop  here  long  eneaf. 
Ho  !  ho !  ho  !  " — all  this  to  Nicholas's  unspeakable 
indignation.  Or,  another  while,  after  chafing  in 
jealousy  for  a  long  time  over  the  coquetries  going  on 
between  Tilda  Price  and  Nicholas — the  Yorkshireman 
flattening  his  own  nose  with  his  clenched  fist  again 
and  again,  "as  if  to  keep  his  hand  in  till  he  had  an 

L  2 


148  CHAKLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

opportunity  of  exercising  it  on  the  nose  of  some  other 
gentleman," — until  asked  merrily  by  his  betrothed  to 
keep  his  glum  silence  no  longer,  but  to  say  something  : 
"  Say  summat  ?  "  roared  John  Browdie,  with  a  mighty 
blow  on  the  table  ;  "  Weal,  then  !  what  I  say  's  this — 
Dang  my  boans  and  boddy,  if  I  stan'  this  ony  longer ! 
Do  ye  gang  whoam  wi'  me  ;  and  do  yon  loight  and 
toight  young  whipster  look  sharp  out  for  a  brokken 
head  next  time  he  cums  under  my  hond.  Cum 
whoam,  tell'e,  cum  whoam  !  "  After  Smike's  running 
away,  and  his  being  brought  back  again,  had  been 
rapidly  recounted,  what  nearly  every  individual  mem 
ber  of  every  audience  in  attendance  at  this  Reading 
was  eagerly  on  the  watch  for  all  along,  at  last,  in 
the  fullness  of  time,  arrived, — the  execrable  Squeers 
receiving,  instead  of  administering,  a  frightful  beating, 
in  the  presence  of  the  whole  school ;  having  carefully 
provided  himself  beforehand,  as  all  were  rejoiced  to 
remember,  with  "  a  fearful  instrument  of  flagellation, 
strong,  supple,  wax-ended,  and  new  !  " 

So  real  are  the  characters  described  by  Charles 
Dickens  in  his  life-like  fictions,  and  so  exactly  do 
the  incidents  he  relates  as  having  befallen  them  re 
semble  actual  occurrences,  that  we  recall  to  recollection 
at  this  moment  the  delight  with  which  the  late  ac 
complished  Lady  Napier  once  related  an  exact  case  in 
point,  appealing,  as  she  did  so,  to  her  husband,  the 
author  of  the  "Peninsular  War,"  to  corroborate  the 
accuracy  of  her  retrospect !  Telling  how  she  perfectly 


NICHOLAS    NICKLEBY.  149 

well  remembered,  when  the  fourth  green  number  of 
"  Nicholas  Nickleby  "  was  just  out,  one  of  her  home 
group,  who  had  a  moment  before  caught  sight  of  the 
picture  of  the  flogging  in  a  shop-window,  rushed  in 
with  the  startling  announcement — as  though  he  were 
bringing  with  him  the  news  of  some  great  victory— 
"  What  DO  you  think  ?  Nicholas  has  thrashed  SqueersJ  " 
As  the  Novelist  read  this  chapter,  or  rather  the 
condensation  of  this  chapter,  it  was  for  all  the  world 
like  assisting  in  person  at  that  sacred  and  refreshing 
rite  ! 

"  Is  every  boy  here  ?  " 

Yes,  every  boy  was  there,  and  so  was  every  ob 
servant  listener,  in  eager  and — knowing  what  was 
coming — in  delighted  expectation.  As  Squeers  was 
represented  as  "glaring  along  the  lines,"  to  assure 
himself  that  every  boy  really  was  there,  what  time 
"  every  eye  drooped  and  every  head  cowered  down," 
the  Reader,  instead  of  uttering  one  word  of  what  the 
ruffianly  schoolmaster  ought  then  to  have  added : 
"  Each  boy  keep  to  his  place.  Nickleby !  you  go  to 
your  desk,  sir !  " — instead  of  saying  one  syllable  of 
this,  contented  himself  with  obeying  his  own  manu 
script  marginal  direction,  in  one  word — POINTING  ! 
The  effect  of  this  simple  gesture  was  startling — particu 
larly  when,  after  the  momentary  hush  with  which  it  was 
always  accompanied,  he  observed  quietly, — "  There  was 
a  curious  expression  in  the  usher's  face,  but  he  took  his 
seat  without  opening  his  lips  in  reply."  Then,  when  the 


150  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

schoolmaster  had  dragged  in  the  wretched  Smike  by 
the  collar,  "  or  rather  by  that  fragment  of  his  jacket 
which  was  nearest  the  place  where  his  collar  ought  to 
have  been,"  there  was  a  horrible  relish  in  his  saying, 
over  his  shoulder  for  a  moment,  "  Stand  a  little  out  of 
the  way,  Mrs.  Squeers,  my  dear ;  I've  hardly  got  room 
enough ! "  The  instant  one  cruel  blow  had  fallen — 
"  STOP!  "  was  cried  in  a  voice  that  made  the  rafters 
ring — even  the  lofty  rafters  of  St.  James's  Hall. 

SQUEEKS,  with  the  glare  and  snarl  of  a  wild  beast. — 
"  Who  cried  stop  ?  " 

NICHOLAS. — "  I  did  !     This  must  not  go  on  !  " 

SQUEERS,  again,  with  a  frightful  look. — "  Must  not 
go  on  ?  " 

NICHOLAS. — "  Must  not !  Shall  not !  I  will  prevent 
it!" 

Then  came  Nicholas  Nickleby's  manly  denunciation 
of  the  scoundrel,  interrupted  one  while  for  an  instant  by 
Squeers  screaming  out,  "  Sit  down,  you — beggar  !  "  and 
followed  at  its  close  by  the  last  and  crowning  outrage, 
consequent  on  a  violent  outbreak  of  wrath  on  the  part 
of  Squeers,  who  spat  at  him  and  struck  him  a  blow 
across  the  face  with  his  instrument  of  torture  :  when 
Nicholas,  springing  upon  him,  wrested  the  weapon 
from  his  hand,  and  pinning  him  by  the  throat — don't 
we  all  exult  in  the  remembrance  of  it  ? — "  beat  the 
ruffian  till  he  roared  for  mercy." 

After  that  climax  has  been  attained,  two  other 
particulars  are  alone  worthy  of  being  recalled  to 


NICHOLAS   NICKLEBY.  151 

recollection  in  regard  to  this  Beading.  First,  the 
indescribable  heartiness  of  John  Browdie's  cordial 
shake-of-the-hand  with  Nicholas  Nickleby  on  their  en 
countering  each  other  by  accident  upon  the  high  road. 
"Shake  honds?  Ah!  that  I  we  el !"  coupled  with 
his  ecstatic  shout  (so  ecstatic  that  his  horse  shyed  at 
it),  "  Beatteii  schoolmeasther  !  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  Beatten 
schoolmeasther  !  Who  ever  heard  o'  the  loike  o'  that, 
noo  ?  Give  us  thee  hond  agean,  yoongster !  Beatten 
schoolmeasther !  Dang  it,  I  loove  thee  for  't ! " 
Finally,  and  as  the  perfecting  touch  of  tenderness 
between  the  two  cousins,  then  unknown  to  each  other 
as  such,  in  the  early  morning  light  at  Boroughbridge, 
we  caught  a  glimpse  of  Nicholas  and  Smike  passing, 
hand  in  hand,  out  of  the  old  barn  together. 


MR.   BOB   SAWYER'S   PARTY. 


QUITE  as  exhilarating  in  its  way  as  the  ail-but  dra 
matised  report  of  the  great  breach  of  promise  case 
tried  before  Mr.  Justice  Stareleigh,  was  that  other 
condensation  of  a  chapter  from  "  Pickwick,"  descrip 
tive  of  Mr.  Bob  Sawyer's  Party.  It  was  a  Beading, 
in  the  delivery  of  which  the  Header  himself  had 
evidently  the  keenest  sense  of  enjoyment.  As  a 
humorous  description,  it  was  effervescent  with  fun, 
being  written  throughout  in  the  happiest,  earliest  style 
of  the  youthful  genius  of  Boz,  when  the  green  numbers 
were  first  shaking  the  sides  of  lettered  and  unlettered 
Englishmen  alike  with  Homeric  laughter.  Besides  this, 
when  given  by  him  as  a  Beading,  it  comprised  within  it 
one  of  his  very  drollest  impersonations.  If  only  as  the 
means  of  introducing  us  to  Jack  Hopkins,  it  would  have 
been  most  acceptable.  But,  inimitable  though  Jack  was, 
he  was,  at  the  least,  thoroughly  well  companioned. 

As  a  relish  of  what  was  coming,  there  was  that 
preliminary  account  of  the  locality  in  which  the  fes 
tivities  were  held,  to  wit,  Lant  Street,  in  the  borough 


A   READING.  67 

large  black  wooden   beads  .     Child    being  fond  of 

»-c**}4te. 
toys,  cribbed  dfai  necklace,  hid  M,  played  with 


cut  **m  string,  and  *  wallowed  a  bead.  Child. 
thought  it  capital  fun,  went  back,  next  day,  and 
swallowed  another  bead..''1 

Bless  ray  hp^rf,r"-g;j,ll!l  \\\>  j-»  1  1  &  w  I  «  fl*  f  what  a 
dreadful  thing!  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  Go 
on. 

kNext  dav,  child  swallowed  two  beads;  the  day 
after  thai  .«Ha.  treated  himself  to  three  ifiit  so*on, 
till  in  a  week's  time  he  had  gpt  through  the  neck 
lace-  five  -and-twenty  beads  «jfcaS  033f  jsister,., 
^4^»^^ff.>.  ^jifi  industrious  g,irl,^«^  seldom  treated 
herself  to  -v  bit  of  finerv^cried  tBf  eyes  out,  at  fefaf 

loss  of  taar  necklace;  looked  high  and  low  for  i 

TiGcklaCQ-^ 
but,  I  needn't  say,    didn't  find  \JH,    ^  T^w  days 

afterwards,  tBfe  family  tiLU  at  dinner—  baked 
shoulder  of  mutton,  and  potatoes  «setosait—  tif 

child,  v&Q  wasn't  hungry,  OB*  playing  about  the 

v/4"?t<.<j/ 
room;  when  suddenly  there  was  heard  a  devil  of  a 

noise  j.likeii  small  hral  storm.  '  Don't  do  that,  my 
boy'  said  ttte  father.  'I  a/mi  a  dom1  .nothing;' 


MR.  BOB  SAWYER'S  PARTY.  153 

of  Southwark,  the  prevailing  repose  of  which,  we  were 
told,  "sheds  a  gentle  melancholy  upon  the  soul"- 
fully  justifying  its  selection  as  a  haven  of  rest  by  any 
one  who  wished  "  to  abstract  himself  from  the  world, 
to  remove  himself  from  the  reach  of  temptation,  to 
place  himself  beyond  the  possibility  of  any  induce 
ment  to  look  out  of  window ! "  As  specimens  of 
animated  nature,  familiarly  met  with  in  the  neighbour 
hood,  "the  pot-boy,  the  muffin  youth,  and  the  baked 
potato  man,"  had  about  them  a  perennial  freshness. 
Whenever  we  were  reminded,  again,  in  regard  to  the 
principal  characteristics  of  the  population  that  it  was 
migratory,  "  usually  disappearing  on  the  verge  of 
quarter-day,  and  generally  by  night,"  her  Majesty's 
revenues  being  seldom  collected  in  that  happy  valley, 
its  rents  being  pronounced  dubious,  and  its  water 
communication  described  as  "  frequently  cut  off,"  we 
found  in  respect  to  the  whole  picture  thus  lightly- 
sketched  in,  that  age  did  not  wither  nor  custom  stale 
its  infinite  comicality. 

It  was  when  the  familiar  personages  of  the  story 
were,  one  after  another,  introduced  upon  the  scene, 
however,  that  the  broad  Pickwickian  humour  of  it 
all  began  in  earnest  to  be  realised.  After  we  had 
listened  with  chuckling  enjoyment  to  the  ludi 
crously  minute  account  given  of  the  elaborate  pre 
parations  made  for  the  reception  of  the  visitors, 
even  in  the  approaches  to  Mr.  Bob  Sawyer's  apart 
ment,  down  to  the  mention  of  the  kitchen  candle 


CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

with  a  long  snuff,  that  "  burnt  cheerfully  on  the  ledge 
of  the  staircase  window,"  we  had  graphically  rendered 
the  memorable  scene  between  poor,  dejected  Bob  and 
his  little  spitfire  of  a  landlady,  Mrs.  Raddle.  So 
dejected  and  generally  suppressed  was  Bob  in  the 
Reading,  however,  that  we  should  hardly  have  re 
cognised  that  very  archetype  of  the  whole  genus  of 
rollicking  Medical  Students,  as  originally  described 
in  the  pages  of  Pickwick,  where  he  is  depicted 
as  attired  in  "a  coarse  blue  coat,  which,  without 
being  either  a  great-coat  or  a  surtout,  partook  of  the 
nature  and  qualities  of  both,"  having  about  him 
that  sort  of  slovenly  smartness  and  swaggering  gait 
peculiar  to  young  gentlemen  who  smoke  in  the  streets 
by  day,  and  shout  and  scream  in  the  same  by  night, 
calling  waiters  by  their  Christian  names,  and  altogether 
bearing  a  resemblance  upon  the  whole  to  something 
like  a  dissipated  Robinson  Crusoe.  Habited,  Bob  still 
doubtless  was,  in  the  plaid  trousers  and  the  large,  rough 
coat  and  double-breasted  waistcoat,  but  as  for  the 
"  swaggering  gait  "  just  mentioned  not  a  vestige  of  it 
remained.  Nor  could  that  be  wondered  at,  indeed, 
for  an  instant,  beholding  and  hearing,  as  we  did,  the 
shrill  ferocity  with  which  Mrs.  Raddle  had  it  out  with 
him  about  the  rent  immediately  before  the  arrival  of 
his  guests. 

It  is  one  of  the  distinctive  peculiarities  of  Charles 
Dickens  as  a  humorous  Novelist,  that  the  cream 
or  quintessence  of  a  jest  is  very  often  given  by 


MR.  BOB  SAWYER'S  PARTY.  155 

him  quite  casually  in  a  parenthesis.  It  was  equally 
distinctive  of  his  peculiarities  as  a  Eeader,  that  the 
especial  charm  of  his  drollery  was  often  conveyed  by 
the  merest  aside.  Thus  it  was  with  him  in  reference 
to  Mrs.  Eaddle's  "confounded  little  bill,"  when — in 
between  Ben  Allen's  inquiry,  "  How  long  has  it  been 
running?"  and  Bob  Sawyer's  reply,  "Only  about  a 
quarter  and  a  month  or  so" — the  Eeader  parenthe 
tically  remarked,  with  a  philosophic  air,  "A  bill,  by 
the  way,  is  the  most  extraordinary  locomotive  engine 
that  the  genius  of  man  ever  produced  :  it  would  keep 
on  running  during  the  longest  lifetime  without  ever 
once  stopping  of  its  own  accord."  Thus  also  was  it, 
when  he  added  meditatively  to  Bob's  hesitating  expla 
nation  to  Mrs.  Eaddle,  "  the  fact  is  that  I  have  been 
disappointed  in  the  City  to-day  " — "  Extraordinary 
place  that  City  :  astonishing  number  of  men  always  are 
getting  disappointed  there."  Hereupon  it  was  that 
that  fiercest  of  little  women,  Mrs.  Eaddle,  who  had 
entered  "in  a  tremble  with  passion  and  pale  with 
rage,"  fairly  let  out  at  her  lodger.  Her  incidental 
bout  with  Mr.  Ben  Allen,  when  he  soothingly  (!)  in 
terpolated,  "  My  good  soul,"  was,  in  the  Eeading,  in 
two  senses,  a  memorable  diversion.  Beginning  with  a 
sarcastic  quivering  in  her  voice,  "  I  am  not  aweer,  sir, 
that  you  have  any  right  to  address  your  conversation 
to  me.  I  don't  think  I  let  these  apartments  to  you, 
sir — "  Mrs.  Eaddle's  anger  rose  through  an  indignant 
crescendo,  on  Ben  Allen's  remonstrating,  "  But  you  are 


156  CHARLES   DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

such  an  unreasonable  woman" — to  the  sharp  and  biting 
interrogation,  "  I  beg  your  parding,  young  man,  but 
will  3rou  have  the  goodness  to  call  me  that  again, 
sir?" 

BEN  ALLEN,  meekly  and  somewhat  uneasy  on  his 
own  account, — "  I  didn't  make  use  of  the  word  in  any 
invidious  sense,  ma'am." 

LANDLADY,  louder  and  more  imperatively, — "  I  beg 
your  parding,  young  man,  but  who  do  you  call  a 
woman  ?  Did  you  make  that  remark  to  me,  sir?" 

"  Why,  bless  my  heart !  " 

"  Did  you  apply  that  name  to  me,  I  ask  of  you,  sir  ?  " 

On  his  answering,  Well,  of  course  he  did  ! — then,  as 
she  retreated  towards  the  open  room-door,  came  the 
last  outburst  of  her  invectives,  high-pitched  in  their 
voluble  utterance,  against  him,  against  them  both, 
against  everybody,  including  Mr.  Raddle  in  the  kitchen 
— "a  base,  faint-hearted,  timorous  wretch,  that's  afraid 
to  come  upstairs  and  face  the  ruffinly  creaturs  — 
that's  afraid  to  come — that's  AFRAID  !  "  Ending  with 
her  screaming  descent  of  the  stairs  in  the  midst  of  a 
loud  double-knock,  upon  the  arrival  just  then  of  the 
Pickwickians,  when,  "  in  an  uncontrollable  burst  of 
mental  agony,"  Mrs.  Raddle  threw  down  all  the  um 
brellas  in  the  passage,  disappearing  into  the  back 
parlour  with  an  awful  crash.  In  answer  to  the 
cheerful  inquiry  from  Mr.  Pickwick, — "  Does  Mr. 
Sawyer  live  here  ?  "  came  the  lugubrious  and  mono 
tonously  intoned  response,  all  on  one  note,  of  the 


MR.    BOB   SAWYERS    PARTY.  157 

aboriginal  young  person,  the  gal  Betsey  (one  of  the 
minor  characters  in  the  original  chapter,  and  yet,  as 
already  remarked,  a  superlatively  good  impersonation 
in  the  Eeading) — "  Yes ;  first-floor.  It's  the  door 
straight  afore  you  when  you  get's  to  the  top  of  the 
stairs  " — with  which  the  dirty  slipshod  in  black  cotton 
stockings  disappeared  with  the  candle  down  the  kitchen 
stair-case,  leaving  the  unfortunate  arrivals  to  grope 
their  way  up  as  they  best  could.  Welcomed  rather 
dejectedly  by  Bob  on  the  first-floor  landing,  where  Mr. 
Pickwick  put,  not,  as  in  the  original  work,  his  hat, 
but,  in  the  Heading,  "  his  foot "  in  the  tray  of  glasses, 
they  were  very  soon  followed,  one  after  another,  by 
the  remainder  of  the  visitors.  Notably  by  a  senti 
mental  young  gentleman  with  a  nice  sense  of  honour, 
and,  most  notably  of  all  (with  a  heavy  footstep,  very 
welcome  indeed  whenever  heard)  by  Jack  Hopkins. 
Jack  was  at  once  the  Hamlet  and  the  Yorick  of  the 
whole  entertainment — all- essential  to  it — whose  very 
look  (with  his  chin  rather  stiff  in  the  stock),  whose 
very  words  (short,  sharp,  and  decisive)  had  about 
them  a  drily  and  ail-but  indescribably  humorous  eifect. 
As  spoken  by  the  Novelist  himself,  Jack  Hop- 
kins's  every  syllable  told  to  perfection.  His  opening 
report  immediately  on  his  arrival,  of  "  rather  a  good 
accident "  just  brought  into  the  casualty  ward — 
only,  it  was  true,  a  man  fallen  out  of  a  four-pair-of- 
stairs  window ;  but  a  very  fair  case,  very  fair  case 
indeed ! — was  of  itself  a  dexterous  forefinger  between 


158  CHAELES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

the  small  ribs  to  begin  with.  Would  the  patient  re 
cover  ?  Well,  no — with  an  air  of  supreme  indifference — 
110,  he  should  rather  say  he  wouldn't.  But  there  must 
be  a  splendid  operation,  though,  on  the  morrow — magni 
ficent  sight  if  Slasher  did  it !  Did  he  consider  Mr. 
Slasher  a  good  operator  ?  "  Best  alive  :  took  a  boy's 
leg  out  of  the  socket  last  week — boy  ate  five  apples 
and  a  gingerbread  cake  exactly  two  minutes  after  it 
was  all  over ; — boy  said  he  wouldn't  lie  there  to  be 
made  game  of ;  and  he'd  tell  his  mother  if  they  didn't 
begin."  To  hear  Dickens  say  this  in  the  short,  sharp 
utterances  of  Jack  Hopkins,  to  see  his  manner  in 
recounting  it,  stiff-necked,  and  with  a  glance  under 
the  drooping  eyelids  in  the  direction  of  Mr.  Pickwick's 
listening  face,  was  only  the  next  best  thing  to  hearing 
him  and  seeing  him,  still  in  the  person  of  Jack  Hopkins, 
relate  the  memorable  anecdote  about  the  child  swal 
lowing  the  necklace — pronounced  in  Jack  Hopkins's 
abbreviated  articulation  of  it,  neck-luss — a  word  re 
peated  by  him  a  round  dozen  times  at  the  least  within 
a  few  seconds  in  the  reading  version  of  that  same 
anecdote.  How  characteristically  and  comically  the 
abbreviations  were  multiplied  for  the  delivery  of  it,  by 
the  very  voice  and  in  the  very  person,  as  it  were, 
of  Jack  Hopkins,  who  shall  say!  As,  for  example — 
"  Sister,  industrious  girl,  seldom  treated  herself  to  bit 
of  finery,  cried  eyes  out,  at  loss  of — neck-luss ;  looked 
high  and  low  for — neck-luss.  Few  days  afterwards, 
family  at  dinner — baked  shoulder  of  mutton  and 


Reading  of  "Mr.  Bob  Sawyer's  Party,"  a  page  covered 
all  over,  as  will  be  observed,  with  minute  touches  in  ' 


MR.  BOB  SAWYER'S  PARTY.  359 

potatoes,  child  wasn't  hungry,  playing  about  the  room, 
when  family  suddenly  heard  devil  of  a  noise  like  small 
hail-storm."  How  abbreviated  passages  like  these 
look,  as  compared  with  the  original — could  only  be 
rendered  comprehensible  upon  the  instant,  by  giving 
in  this  place  a  facsimile  of  one  of  the  pages  relating  to 
Jack  Hopkins's  immortal  story  about  the — neck-luss, 
exactly  as  it  appears  in  the  marked  copy  of  the 

4 

the  Novelist's  own  handwriting.  A ,  / 

Nothing  at  all  in  the  later  version  of  this  Beading 
was  said  about  the  prim  person  in  cloth  boots,  who 
unsuccessfully  attempted  all  through  the  evening  to 
make  a  joke.  Of  him  the  readers  of  "  Pickwick"  will 
very  well  remember  it  to  have  been  related  that  he 
commenced  a  long  story  about  a  great  public  cha 
racter,  whose  name  he  had  forgotten,  making  a  par 
ticularly  happy  reply  to  another  illustrious  individual 
whom  he  had  never  been  able  to  identify,  and,  after 
enlarging  with  great  minuteness  upon  divers  collateral 
circumstances  distantly  connected  with  the  anecdote, 
could  not  for  the  life  of  him  recollect  at  that  precise 
moment  what  the  anecdote  was — although  he  had  been 
in  the  habit,  for  the  last  ten  years,  of  telling  the  story 
with  great  applause  !  While  disposed  to  regret  the 
omission  of  this  preposterously  natural  incident  from 
the  revised  version  of  the  Reading,  and  especially 
Bob  Sawyer's  concluding  remark  in  regard  to  it, 


160  CHAELES   DICKENS    AS   A    READER. 

that  lie  should  very  much  like  to  hear  the  end  of  it, 
for,  so  far  as  it  went,  it  was,  without  exception,  the 
very  best  story  he  had  ever  heard  " — we  were  more 
than  compensated  by  another  revisive  touch,  by  which 
Mr.  Hopkins,  instead  of  Mr.  Gunter,  in  the  pink  shirt, 
was  represented  as  one  of  the  two  interlocutors  in  the 
famous  quarrel-scene :  the  other  being  Mr.  Noddy, 
the  scorbutic  youth,  with  the  nice  sense  of  honour. 
Through  this  modification  the  ludicrous  effect  of  the 
squabble  was  wonderfully  enhanced,  as  where  Mr. 
Noddy,  having  been  threatened  with  being  "  pitched  out 
o'  window"  by  Mr.  Jack  Hopkins,  said  to  the  latter,  "  I 
should  like  to  see  you  do  it,  sir,"  Jack  Hopkins  curtly 
retaliating — "  You  shall  feel  me  do  it,  sir,  in  half  a 
minute."  The  reconciliation  of  the  two  attained  its 
climax  of  absurdity  in  the  Reading,  when  Mr.  Noddy, 
having  gradually  allowed  his  feelings  to  overpower 
him,  professed  that  he  had  ever  entertained  a  devoted 
personal  attachment  to  Mr.  Hopkins.  Consequent 
upon  this,  Mr.  Hopkins,  we  were  told,  replied,  that, 
"  on  the  whole,  he  rather  preferred  Mr.  Noddy  to 
his  own  mother" — the  word  standing,  of  course,  as 
"  brother  "  in  the  original.  Summing  it  all  up,  the  Reader 
would  then  add,  with  a  rise  and  fall  of  the  voice  at 
almost  every  other  word  in  the  sentence,  the  mere 
sound  of  which  was  inexpressibly  ludicrous — "Every 
body  said  the  whole  dispute  had  been  conducted  in  a 
manner"  (here  he  would  sometimes  gag)  "that  did  equal 
credit  to  the  head  and  heart  of  both  parties  concerned." 


MR.  BOB  SAWYER'S  PARTY.  161 

Another  gag,  of  which  there  is  no  sign  in  the  marked 
copy,  those  who  attended  any  later  delivery  of  this 
Reading  will  well  remember  he  was  fond  of  intro 
ducing.  This  was  immediately  after  Mrs.  Raddle  had 
put  an  end  to  the  evening's  enjoyment  in  the  very 
middle  of  Jack  Hopkins'  song  (with  a  chorus)  of  "  The 
King,  God  bless  him,"  carolled  forth  by  Jack  to  a 
novel  air  compounded  of  the  "  Bay  of  Biscay "  and 
"A  Frog  he  would  a-wooing  go" — when  poor,  dis 
comfited  Bob  (after  turning  pale  at  the  voice  of  his 
dreaded  landlady,  shrilly  calling  out,  "  Mr.  Saw-?/*??1  / 
Mr.  Saw-7/e?1  / ")  turned  reproachfully  on  the  over- 
boisterous  Jack  Hopkins,  with,  "  I  thought  you  were 
making  too  much  noise,  Jack.  You're  such  a  fellow 
for  chorusing  !  You're  always  at  it.  You  came  into 
the  world  chorusing ;  and  I  believe  you'll  go  out  of  it 
chorusing."  Through  their  appreciation  of  which — 
more  even  than  through  their  remembrance  of  Mrs. 
Raddle's  withdrawal  of  her  nightcap,  with  a  scream, 
from  over  the  staircase  banisters,  on  catching  sight 
of  Mr.  Pickwick,  saying,  "  Get  along  with  you,  you 
old  wretch !  Old  enough  to  be  his  grandfather,  you 
willin  !  You're  worse  than  any  of  'em  ! " — the  hearers 
paid  to  the  Reader  of  Bob  Sawyer's  Party  their  last 
tribute  of  laughter. 


THE  CHIMES. 


As  poetical  in  its  conception,  and  also,  intermit 
tently,  in  its  treatment,  as  anything  lie  ever  wrote,  this 
Goblin  Story  of  Some  Bells  that  Rang  an  Old  Year 
Out  and  a  New  Year  In,  was,  in  those  purely  goblin, 
or  more  intensely  imaginative  portions  of  it, one  of  the 
most  effective  of  our  Author's  Readings.  Hence  its- 
selection  by  him  for  his  very  first  Reading  on  his  own 
account  in  St.  Martin's  Hall,  Long  Acre.  Listening, 
as  we  did,  then  and  afterwards,  to  the  tale,  as  it  was 
told  by  his  own  sympathetic  lips,  much  of  the  incon 
gruity,  otherwise  no  doubt  apparent  in  the  narrative, 
seemed  at  those  times  to  disappear  altogether.  The 
incongruity,  we  mean,  observable  between  the  queer 
little  ticket-porter  and  the  elfin  phantoms  of  the  belfry ; 
between  Trotty  Veck,  in  his  "breezy,  goose-skinned, 
blue-nosed,  red-eyed,  stony-toed,  tooth-chattering" 
stand-point  by  the  old  church-door,  and  the  Goblin 
Sight  beheld  by  him  when  he  had  clambered  up,  up,  up 
among  the  roof-beams  of  the  great  church-tower.  As 
the  story  was  related  in  its  original  form,  it  was  rung 


THE    CHIMES.  163 

out  befittingly  from  the  Chimes  in  four  quarters.    As  a 
Reading  it  was  subdivided  simply  into  three  parts. 

Nothing  whatever  was  preserved  (by  an  error  as  it 
always  seemed  to  us)  of  the  admirable  introduction. 
The  story-teller  piqued  no  one  into  attention  by  say 
ing — to  begin  with — "  There  are  not  many  people  who 
would  care  to  sleep  in  a  church."  Adding  immediately, 
with  delightful  particularity,  "I  don't  mean  at  sermon 
time  in  warm  weather  (when  the  thing  has  actually 
been  done  once  or  twice),  but  in  the  night,  and  alone." 
Not  a  word  was  uttered  in  the  exordium  of  the  Read 
ing  about  the  dismal  trick  the  night-wind  has  in  those 
ghostly  hours  of  wandering  round  and  round  a  build 
ing  of  that  sort,  and  moaning  as  it  goes ;  of  its  trying 
with  a  secret  hand  the  windows  and  the  doors,  fumbling 
for  some  crevice  by  which  to  enter,  and,  having  got  in, 
"  as  one  not  finding  what  it  seeks,  whatever  that  may 
be,"  of  its  wailing  and  howling  to  issue  forth  again ;  of 
its  stalking  through  the  aisles  and  gliding  round  and 
round  the  pillars,  and  "tempting  the  deep  organ;  "  of 
its  soaring  up  to  the  roof,  and  after  striving  vainly  to 
rend  the  rafters,  flinging  itself  despairingly  upon  the 
stones  below,  and  passing  mutteringly  into  the  vaults  ! 
Anon,  coming  up  stealthily — the  Christmas  book  goes 
on  to  say — "It  has  a  ghostly  sound,  lingering  within 
the  Altar,  where  it  seems  to  chant  in  its  wild  way  of 
Wrong  and  Murder  done,  and  false  Gods  worshipped, 
in  defiance  of  the  Tables  of  the  Law,  which  look  so 
fair  and  smooth,  but  are  so  flawed  and  broken.  Ugh  ! 

M    2 


164  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

Heaven  preserve  us,  sitting  snugly  round  the  fire  ! — it 
has  an  awful  voice  that  Wind  at  Midnight,  singing  in  a 
church  !  "  Of  all  this  and  of  yet  more  to  the  like 
purpose,  not  one  syllable  was  there  in  the  Reading, 
which,  on  the  contrary,  began  at  once  point-blank  : 
"  High  up  in  the  steeple  of  an  old  church,  far  above 
the  town,  and  far  below  the  clouds,  dwelt  the 
1  Chimes  '  I  tell  of."  Directly  after  which  the  Reader, 
haying  casually  mentioned  the  circumstance  of  their 
just  then  striking  twelve  at  noon,  gave  utterance  to 
Trotty  Aleck's  ejaculatory  reflection  :  "  Dinner-time, 
eh  ?  Ah !  There's  nothing  more  regular  in  its 
coming  round  than  dinner-time,  and  there's  nothing 
less  regular  in  its  coming  round  than  dinner." 
Followed  by  his  innocently  complacent  exclamation  : 
*'  I  wonder  whether  it  would  be  worth  any  gentle 
man's  while,  now,  to  buy  that  obserwatioii  for  the 
Papers,  or  the  Parliament !  "  The  Eeader  adding 
upon  the  instant,  with  an  explanatory  aside,  that 
"  Trotty  was  only  joking,"  striving  to  console  himself 
doubtless  for  the  exceeding  probability  there  was 
before  him,  at  the  moment,  of  his  going,  not  for  the 
first  time,  dinnerless. 

In  the  thick  of  his  meditations  Trotty  was  startled 
— those  who  ever  attended  this  Beading  will  remember 
how  pleasantly — by  the  unlooked-for  appearance  of  his 
pretty  daughter  Meg.  "  And  not  alone  !  "  as  she 
told- him  cheerily.  "  Why  you  don't  mean  to  say,"  was 
the  wondering  reply  of  the  old  ticket-porter,  looking 


THE    CHIMES.  165 

curiously  the  while   at  a  covered   basket   carried    in 

Margaret's    hand,    "  that     you    have    brought " 

Hadn't  she  !  It  was  burning  hot — scalding !  He 
must  guess  from  the  steaming  flavour  what  it  was ! 
Thereupon  came  the  by-play  of  the  Humorist — after 
the  fashion  of  Munden,  who,  according  to  Charles 
Lamb,  "  understood  a  leg  of  mutton  in  its  quiddity." 
It  was  thus  with  the  Reader  when  he  syllabled,  with 
watering  lips,  guess  after  guess  at  the  half-opened 
basket.  "It  ain't — I  suppose  it  ain't  polonies  ?  [sniff - 
ing].  No.  It's — it's  mellower  than  polonies.  It's  too 
decided  for  trotters.  Liver  ?  No.  There's  a  mildness 
about  it  that  don't  answer  to  liver.  Pettitoes  ?  No. 
It  ain't  faint  enough  for  pettitoes.  It  wants  the 
stringiness  of  cock's  heads.  And  I  know  it  ain't 
sausages.  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is.  No,  it  isn't, 
neither.  Why,  what  am  I  thinking  of !  I  shall  forget 
my  own  name  next.  It's  tripe  !  "  Forthwith,  to 
reward  him  for  having  thus  hit  it  off  at  last  so  cleverly, 
Meg,  as  she  expressed  it,  with  a  flourish,  laid  the 
cloth,  meaning  the  pocket-handkerchief  in  which  the 
basin  of  tripe  had  been  tied  up,  and  actually  offered 
the  sybarite  who  was  going  to  enjoy  the  unexpected 
banquet,  a  choice  of  dining-places  !  "  Where  will  you 
dine,  father  ?  On  the  post,  or  on  the  steps  ?  How 
grand  we  are  :  two  places  to  choose  from !  "  The 
weather  being  dry,  and  the  steps  therefore  chosen, 
those  being  rheumatic  only  in  the  damp,  Trotty  Veck 
was  not  merely  represented  b.y  the  Reader  as  feasting 


166  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

upon  the  tripe,  but  as  listening  meanwhile  to  Meg's 
account  of  how  it  had  all  been  arranged  that  she  and 
her  lover  Richard  should,  upon  the  very  next  day, 
that  is,  upon  New  Year's  Day,  be  married. 

In  the  midst  of  this  agreeable  confabulation — 
Richard  himself  having  in  the  interim  become  one  of 
the  party — the  little  old  ticket-porter,  the  pretty 
daughter,  and  the  sturdy  young  blacksmith,  were  sud 
denly  scattered.  The  Reader  went  on  to  relate  how 
this  happened,  with  ludicrous  accuracy,  upon  the  abrupt 
opening  of  the  door,  around  the  steps  of  which  they 
were  gathered — a  flunkey  nearly  putting  his  foot  in 
the  tripe,  with  this  indignant  apostrophe,  "  Out  of  the 
vays,  here,  will  you  ?  You  must  always  go  and  be  a 
settin'  on  our  steps,  must  you  ?  You  can't  go  and 
give  a  turn  to  none  of  the  neighbours  never,  can't 
you  ?  "  Adding,  even,  a  moment  afterwards,  with  an 
aggrieved  air  of  almost  affecting  expostulation,  "You're 
always  a  being  begged  and  prayed  upon  your  bended 
knees,  you  are,  to  let  our  door-steps  be  ?  CAN'T  you 
let  'em  be  ?  "  Nothing  more  was  seen  or  heard  of 
that  footman,  and  yet  in  the  utterance  of  those  few 
words  of  his  the  individuality  of  the  man  somehow 
was  thoroughly  realised.  Observing  him,  listening 
to  him,  as  he  stood  there  palpably  before  us,  one 
seemed  to  understand  better  than  ever  Thackeray's 
declaration  in  regard  to  those  same  menials  in  plush 
breeches,  that  a  certain  delightful "  quivering  swagger" 
of  the  calves  about  them,  had  for  him  always,  as  he 


THE    CHIMES.  167 

expressed  it,  "a  frantic  fascination  !  "  Immediately 
afterwards,  however,  as  the  Reader  turned  a  new  leaf, 
in  place  of  the  momentary  apparition  of  that  particular 
flunkey,  three  very  different  persons  appeared  to  step 
across  the  threshold  on  to  the  platform.  Low-spirited, 
Mr.  Filer,  with  his  hands  in  his  trousers-pockets.  The 
red-faced  gentleman  who  was  always  vaunting,  under 
the  title  of  the  "  good  old  times,"  some  undiscoverable 
past  which  he  perpetually  lamented  as  his  deceased 
Millennium.  And  finally — as  large  as  life,  and  as 
real — Alderman  Cute.  As  in  the  original  Christmas 
'book,  so  also  in  the  Heading,  the  one  flagrant  impro 
bability  was  the  consumption  by  Alderman  Cute  of  the 
last  lukewarm  tid-bit  of  tripe  left  by  Trotty  Veck  down 
fit  the  bottom  of  the  basin — its  consumption,  indeed, 
l>y  any  alderman,  however  prying  or  gluttonous. 
Barring  that,  the  whole  of  the  first  scene  of  the 
"  Chimes  "  was  alive  with  reality,  and  with  a  curious 
diversity  of  human  character.  In  the  one  that 
followed,  and  in  which  Trotty  conveyed  a  letter  to  Sir 
Joseph  Bowley,  the  impersonation  of  the  obese  hall- 
porter,  later  on  identified  as  Tugby,  was  in  every  way 
iar  beyond  that  of  the  pompous  humanitarian  member 
of  parliament.  A  hall-porter  this  proved  to  be  whose 
voice,  when  he  had  found  it — "which  it  took  him 
some  time  to  do,  for  it  was  a  long  way  off,  and  hidden 
under  a  load  of  meat  " — was,  in  truth,  as  the  Author's 
lips  expressed  it,  and  as  his  pen  had  long  before  de- 
•scribed  it  in  the  book,  "  a  fat  whisper."  Afterwards 


168  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

when  re-introduced,  Tugby  hardly,  as  it  appeared  to 
us,  came  up  to  the  original  description.  When  the 
stout  old  lady,  his  supposititious  wife,  formerly,  or 
rather  really,  all  through,  Mrs.  Chickenstalker,  says,  in 
answer  to  his  inquiries  as  to  the  weather,  one  especially 
bitter  winter's  evening,  "  Blowing  and  sleeting  hard, 
and  threatening  snow.  Dark,  and  very  cold" — Tugby 's 
almost  apoplectic  reply  was  delicious,  no  doubt,  in  its 
suffocative  delivery.  "  I'm  glad  to  think  we  had 
muffins  for  tea,  my  dear.  It's  a  sort  of  night  that's 
meant  for  muffins.  Likewise  crumpets ;  also  Sally 
Limns."  But,  for  all  that,  we  invariably  missed  the 
sequel — which,  once  missed,  could  hardly  be  foregone 
contentedly.  We  recalled  to  mind,  for  example,  such 
descriptive  particulars  in  the  original  story  as  that,  in 
mentioning  each  successive  kind  of  eatable,  Tugby  did 
so  "as  if  he  were  musingly  summing  up  his  good 
actions,"  or  that,  after  this,  rubbing  his  fat  legs  and 
jerking  them  at  the  knees  to  get  the  fire  upon  the  yet 
unroasted  parts,  he  laughed  as  if  somebody  had 
tickled  him  !  We  bore  distinctly  enough  in  remem 
brance,  and  longed  then  to  have  heard  from  the  lips 
of  the  Reader — in  answer  to  the  dream -wife's  remark, 
"  You're  in  spirits,  Tugby,  my  dear  !  "  — Tugby 's  fat, 
gasping  response,  "  No, — No.  Not  particular.  I'm  a 
little  elewated.  The  muffins  came  so  pat !"  Though,, 
even  if  that  addition  had  been  vouchsafed,  we  should 
still,  no  doubt,  have  hungered  for  the  descriptive  par 
ticulars  that  followed,  relating  not  only  how  the  former 


THE    CHIMES.  169 

hall-porter  chuckled  until  he  was  black  in  the  face — 
having  so  much  ado,  in  fact,  to  become  any  other  colour, 
that  his  fat  legs  made  the  strangest  excursions  into  the 
air — but  that  Mrs.  Tugby,  that  is,  Chickenstalker,  after 
thumping  him  violently  on  the  back,  and  shaking  him 
as  if  he  were  a  bottle,  was  constrained  to  cry  out,  in 
great  terror,  "  Good  gracious,  goodness,  lord-a-mercy, 
bless  and  save  the  man  !  What's  he  a-doing  ?  "  To 
which  all  that  Mr.  Tugby  can  faintly  reply,  as  he 
wipes  his  e}res,  is,  that  he  finds  himself  a  little 
"elewated!" 

Another  omission  in  the  Reading  was,  if  possible, 
yet  more  surprising,  namely,  the  whole  of  Will  Fern's 
finest  speech :  an  address  full  of  rustic  eloquence  that 
one  can't  help  feeling  sure  would  have  told  wonderfully 
as  Dickens  could  have  delivered  it.  However,  the 
story,  foreshortened  though  it  was,  precisely  as  he 
related  it,  was  told  with  a  due  regard  to  its  artistic 
completeness.  Margaret  and  Lilian,  the  old  ticket- 
porter  and  the  young  blacksmith,  were  the  principal 
interlocutors.  Like  the  melodrama  of  Victorine,  it 
all  turned  out,  of  course,  to  be  no  more  than  "  the 
baseless  fabric  of  a  vision,"  the  central  incidents  of  the 
tale,  at  any  rate,  being  composed  of  "  such  stuff  as 
dreams  are  made  of."  How  it  all  came  to  be  evolved 
by  the  "  Chimes  "  from  the  slumbering  brain  of  the 
queer,  little  old  ticket-porter  was  related  more  fully 
and  more  picturesquely,  no  doubt,  in  the  printed 
narrative,  but  in  the  Reading,  at  the  least,  it  was 


170  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

depicted  with  more  dramatic  force  and  passion.  The 
znerest  glimmering,  however,  was  afforded  of  the 
ghostly  or  elfin  spectacle,  as  seen  by  the  "  mind's 
eye  "  of  the  dreamer,  and  which  in  the  book  itself  was 
so  important  an  integral  portion  of  the  tale,  as  there 
unfolded,  constituting,  as  it  did,  for  that  matter, 
the  very  soul  or  .spirit  of  what  was  meant  by  "  The 
Chimes." 

Speaking  of  the  collective  chimes  of  a  great  city, 
Victor  Hugo  has  remarked  in  his  prose  master 
piece  that,  in  an  ordinary  way,  the  noise  issuing  from 
a  vast  capital  is  the  talking  of  the  city,  that  at  night  it 
is  the  breathing  of  the  city,  but  that  when  the  bells 
are  ringing  it  is  the  singing  of  the  city.  Descanting 
upon  this  congenial  theme,  the  poet-novelist  observes, 
in  continuation,  that  while  at  first  the  vibrations  of 
•each  bell  rise  straight,  pure,  and  in  a  manner  sepa 
rate  from  that  of  the  others,  swelling  by  degrees, 
they  blend,  melt,  and  amalgamate  in  magnificent  con 
cert  until  they  become  at  length  one  mass  of  sonorous 
vibrations,  which,  issuing  incessantly  from  innume 
rable  steeples,  float,  undulate,  bound,  whirl  over  the 
city,  expanding  at  last  far  beyond  the  horizon  the 
deafening  circle  of  their  oscillations.  What  has 
been  said  thus  superbly,  though  it  may  be  some 
what  extravagantly,  by  Hugo,  in  regard  to  "  that  tutti 
of  steeples,  that  column  of  sound,  that  cloud  or 
sea  of  harmony,"  as  he  variously  terms  it,  has  been 
said  less  extravagantly,  but  quite  as  exquisitely,  by 


THE    CHIMES.  171 

Charles  Dickens,  in  regard  to  the  chimes  of  a  single 
belfry.  After  this  New  Year's  tale  of  his  was  first 
told,  there  rang  out  from  the  opposite  shores  of  the 
Atlantic,  that  most  wonderful  tintinnabulation  in  all 
literature, ''The  Bells"  of  Edgar  Foe — which  is,  among 
minor  poems,  in  regard  to  the  belfry,  what  Southey's 
"  Lodore  "  is  to  the  cataract,  full,  sonorous,  and  ex 
haustive.  And  there  it  is,  in  that  marvellous  little 
poem  of  "  The  Bells,"  that  the  American  lyrist,  as  it 
has  always  seemed  to  us,  has  caught  much  of  the 
eltrich  force  and  beaut}7  and  poetic  significance  of 
"  The  Chimes"  as  they  were  originally  rung  forth  in 
the  prose-poetry  of  the  English  novelist : — 

"  And  the  people — ah,  the  people — 
They  that  dwell  tip  in  the  steeple, 

All  alone, 
And  who  tolling,  tolling,  tolling, 

In  that  muffled  monotone, 
Feel  a  glory  in  so  rolling 

On  [or  from]  the  human  heart  a  stone — 
They  are  neither  man  nor  woman — 
They  are  neither  brute  nor  human — 

They  are  Ghouls  : 
And  their  king  it  is  who  tolls ; 
And  he  rolls,  rolls,  rolls, 

Rolls 
A  paean  from  the  bells." 

Charles  Dickens,  in  his  beautiful  imaginings  in  re 
gard  to  the  Spirits  of  the  Bells — something  of  the 
grace  and  goblinry  of  which,  Maclise's  pencil  shadowed 
forth  in  the  lovely  frontispiece  to  the  little  volume  in 


172  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS   A    READER. 

the  form  in  which  it  was  first  of  all  published — has 
exhausted  the  vocabulary  of  wonder  in  his  elvish  de 
lineation  of  the  Goblin  Sight  beheld  in  the  old  church- 
tower  on  New  Year's  Eve  by  the  awe-stricken  ticket- 
porter. 

In  the  Reading  one  would  naturally  have  liked  to  have 
caught  some  glimpse  at  least  of  the  swarming  out  to 
view  of  the  "  dwarf -phantoms,  spirits,  elfin  creatures 
of  the  Bells;"  to  have  seen  them  " leaping,  flying, 
dropping,  pouring  from  the  Bells,"  unceasingly ;  to 
have  realised  them  anew  as  a  listener,  just  as  the 
imaginary  dreamer  beheld  them  all  about  him  in  his 
vision — "  round  him  on  the  ground,  above  him  in  the 
air,  clambering  from  him  by  the  ropes  below,  looking 
down  upon  him  from  the  massive  iron-girded  beams, 
peeping  in  upon  him  through  the  chinks  and  loopholes 
in  the  walls,  spreading  away  and  away  from  him  in 
enlarging  circles,  as  the  water-ripples  give  place  to  a 
huge  stone  that .  suddenly  comes  plashing  in  among 
them."  In  their  coming  and  in  their  going,  the 
sight,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  equally  marvellous. 
Whether — as  the  Chimes  rang  out — we  read  of  the 
dream -haunted,  "  He  saw  them  [these  swarming 
goblins]  ugly,  handsome,  crippled,  exquisitely  formed. 
He  saw  them  young,  he  saw  them  old,  he  saw  them  kind, 
he  saw  them  cruel,  he  saw  them  merry,  he  saw  them 
grim,  he  saw  them  dance,  he  heard  them  sing,  he  saw 
them  tear  their  hair,  and  heard  them  howl" — diving, 
soaring,  sailing,  perching,  violently  active  in  their 


THE    CHIMES.  173 

restlessness — stone,  brick,  slate,  tile,  transparent  to  the 
dreamer's  gaze,  and  pervious  to  their  movements — the 
bells  all  the  while  in  an  uproar,  the  great  church  tower 
vibrating  from  parapet  to  basement !  Or,  whether — 
when  the  Chimes  ceased — there  came  that  instan 
taneous  transformation!  "  The  whole  swarm  fainted; 
their  forms  collapsed,  their  speed  deserted  them ;  they 
sought  to  fly,  but  in  the  act  of  falling  died  and  melted 
into  air.  One  straggler,"  says  the  book,  "  leaped  down 
pretty  briskly  from  the  surface  of  the  Great  Bell,  and 
alighted  on  his  feet,  but  he  was  dead  and  gone  before  he 
-could  turn  round."  After  it  has  been  added  that  some 
thus  gambolling  in  the  tower  "  remained  there,  spinning 
over  and  over  a  little  longer,"  becoming  fainter,  fewer, 
feebler,  and  so  vanishing — we  read,  "  The  last  of  all 
was  one  small  hunchback,  who  had  got  into  an  echoing 
corner,  where  he  twirled  and  twirled,  and  floated  by 
himself  a  long  time  ;  showing  such  perseverance,  that  at 
last  he  dwindled  to  a  leg,  and  even  to  a  foot,  before  he 
finally  retired  ;  but  he  vanished  in  the  end,  and  then 
the  tower  was  silent."  Nothing  of  this,  however,  was 
given  in  the  Reading,  the  interest  of  which  was 
almost  entirely  restricted  to  the  fancied  fluctuation  of 
fortunes  among  the  human  characters.  All  of  the 
pathetic  and  most  of  the  comic  portions  of  the  tale 
were  happily  preserved.  When,  in  the  persons  of  the 
Tugbys,  "  fat  company,  rosy-cheeked  company,  com 
fortable  company,"  came  to  be  introduced,  there  was 
nn  instant  sense  of  exhilaration  among  the  audience. 


174  CHAKLES    DICKENS    AS   A    READER. 

A  roar  invariably  greeted  the  remark,  "  They  were 
but  two,  but  they  were  red  enough  for  ten."  Similarly 
pronounced  was  the  reception  of  the  casual  announce 
ment  of  the  "  stone  pitcher  of  terrific  size,"  in  which 
the  good  wife  brought  her  contribution  of  "  a  little 
flip "  to  the  final  merry-making.  "  Mrs.  Chicken- 
stalker's  notion  of  a  little  flip  did  honour  to  her  cha 
racter,"  elicited  a  burst  of  laughter  that  was  instantly 
renewed  when  the  Reader  added,  that  "  the  pitcher 
reeked  like  a  volcano,"  and  that  "  the  man  who 
carried  it  was  faint."  The  Drum,  \)y  the  way — braced 
tight  enough,  as  an}'  one  might  admit  in  the  original 
narrative — seemed  rather  slackened,  and  was  certainly 
less  effective,  in  the  Reading.  One  listened  in  vain, 
for  the  well-remembered  parenthesis  indicative  of  its 
being  the  man  himself,  and  not  the  instrument. 
"  The  Drum  (who  was  a  private  friend  of  Trotty's) 
then  stepped  forward,  and  "  offered — evidently  with  a 
hiccough  or  two  — his  greeting  of  good  fellowship, 
"which,"  as  we  learn  from  the  book,  "was  received 
with  a  general  shout."  The  Humorist  added  there 
upon,  in  his  character  as  Storyteller,  not  in  his  ca 
pacity  as  Reader,  "  The  Drum  was  rather  drunk,  by- 
the-bye  ;  but  never  mind."  A  band  of  music,  with 
marrow-bones  and  cleavers  and  a  set  of  hand-bells — 
clearly  all  of  them  under  the  direction  of  the  Drum — 
then  struck  up  the  dance  at  Meg's  wedding.  But,  after 
due  mention  had  been  made  of  how  Trotty  danced  with 
Mrs.  Chickenstalker  "in  a  step  unknown  before  or 


THE    CHIMES.  175 

since,  founded  on  his  own  peculiar  trot,"  the  story 
closed  in  the  book,  and  closed  also  in  the  Reading, 
with  words  that,  in  their  gentle  and  harmonious  flow, 
seemed  to  come  from  the  neighbouring  church-tower 
as  final  echoes  from  "  The  Chimes  "  themselves. 


THE  STOEY  OF  LITTLE  DOMBEY. 


THE  hushed  silence  with  which  the  concluding 
passages  of  this  Reading  were  always  listened  to, 
spoke  more  eloquently  than  any  applause  could 
possibly  have  done,  of  the  sincerity  of  the  emotions  it 
awakened.  A  cursory  glance  at  the  audience  con 
firmed  the  impression  produced  by  that  earlier  evi 
dence  of  their  rapt  and  breathless  attention.  It  is 
the  simplest  truth  to  say  that  at  those  times  many  a 
face  illustrated  involuntarily  the  loveliest  line  in  the 
noblest  ode  in  the  language,  where  Diyden  has  sung 
even  of  a  warrior — 

"And  now  and  then  a  sigh  he  heaved, 
And  tears  began  to  flow.1' 

The  subdued  voice  of  the  Header,  moreover,  accorded 
tenderly  with  one's  remembrance  of  his  own  acknow 
ledgment  ten  jrears  after  his  completion  of  the  book 
from  which  this  story  was  extracted,  that  with  a  heavy 
heart  he  had  walked  the  streets  of  Paris  alone  during 
the  whole  of  one  winter's  night,  while  he  and  his  little 
friend  parted  company  for  ever !  Charles  Young's 


LITTLE   DOMBEY. 


33 


'I    mean,    Papa,   what    can    it    do?1' 


Mr   ""m-Thr-  rlrmr  hir   nlinir   1  i  rfr  t 


'-  You1 11  know 


better  bye  and  bye,  my  man      Money,    Paul,  can 
do  ajivtiiins-^  >klJic 


un7 


mone 


y  can  do  anything  5>/I  wonder  it  didn't 


save  me  my  Mama,.  It  can't  make  me  strong  and 
quite  well,  either.  I  am  so  tired  sometimes  and 
my  bones  a^he  so,  that  I  don't  "know  wrLal  to  do!  l1 


THE    STORY    OF    LITTLE    DOMBEY.  177 

son,  the  vicar  of  Ilminster,  lias,  recently,  in  his  own 
Diary  appended  to  his  memoir  of  his  father,  the 
tragedian,  related  a  curious  anecdote,  illustrative,  in  a 
very  striking  way,  of  the  grief — the  profound  and  ovei^ 
whelming  grief — excited  in  a  mind  and  heart  like  those 
of  Lord  Jeffrey,  hy  the  imaginary  death  of  another  of 
these  dream-children  of  Charles  Dickens.  The  editor  of 
the  Edinburgh  Review,  we  there  read,  was  surprised  by 
Mrs.  Henry  Siddons,  seated  in  his  library,  with  his  head 
on  the  table,  crying.  "  Delicately  retiring,"  we  are  then 
told,  "in  the  hope  that  her  entrance  had  been  un 
noticed,"  Mrs.  Siddons  observed  that  Jeffrey  raised  his 
head  and  was  kindly  beckoning  her  back.  The  Diary 
goes  on  :  "Perceiving  that  his  cheek  was  flushed  and 
his  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  she  apologised  for  her 
intrusion,  and  begged  permission  to  withdraw.  When 
he  found  that  she  was  seriously  intending  to  leave 
him,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  took  her  by  both  hands, 
and  led  her  to  a  seat."  Then  came  the  acknowledg 
ment  prefaced  by  Lord  Jeffrey's  remark  that  he  was 
"  a  great  goose  to  have  given  way  so/'  Little  Nell 
was  dead!  The  newly  published  number  of  "Master 
Humphrey's  Clock"  (No.  44)  was  lying  before  him, 
in  which  he  had  just  been  reading  of  the  general 
bereavement ! 

Eeferring  to  another  of  these  little  creatures'  deaths, 
that  of  Tiny  Tim,  Thackeray  wrote  in  the  July  number 
of  Fraser,  for  1844,  that  there  was  one  passage  regard 
ing  it  about  which  a  man  would  hardly  venture  to  speak 


178  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   EEADER. 

in  print  or  in  public  l '  any  more  than  lie  would  of  any 
other  affections  of  his  private  heart." 

It  has  been  related,  even  of  the  burly  demagogue, 
O'Connell,  that  on  first  reading  of  Nell's  death  in  the 
Old  Curiosity  Shop,  he  exclaimed — his  eyes  running- 
over  with  tears  while  he  flung  the  leaves  indignantly 
out  of  the  window — "he  should  not  have  killed  her — 
he  should  not  have  killed  her  :  she  was  too  good  !  " 

Finally,  another  Scotch  critic  and  judge,  Lord  Cock- 
burn,  writing  to  the  Novelist  on  the  very  morrow  of 
reading  the  memorable  fifth  number  of  "  Dombey  and 
Son,"  in  which  the  death  of  Little  Paul  is  so  exquisitely 
depicted — offering  his  grateful  acknowledgments  to  the 
Author  for  the  poignant  grief  he  had  caused  him — 
added,  "  I  have  felt  my  heart  purified  by  those  tears, 
and  blessed  and  loved  you  for  making  me  shed  them." 

Hardly  can  it  be  matter  for  wonder,  therefore,  re 
marking  how  the  printed  pages  would  draw  such  tokens 
of  sympathy  from  men  like  Cockburn,  and  Jeffrey,  and 
Thackeray,  and  O'Connell,  that  a  mixed  audience 
showed  traces  of  emotion  when  the  profoundly  sym 
pathetic  voice  of  Dickens  himself  related  this  story  of 
the  Life  and  Death  of  Little  Dombey.  Yet  the  pathetic 
beauty  of  the  tale,  for  all  that,  was  only  dimly  hinted  at 
throughout, — the  real  pathos  of  it,  indeed,  being  only 
fully  indicated  almost  immediately  before  its  conclu 
sion.  Earlier  in  the  Beading,  in  fact,  the  drollery  of 
the  comic  characters  introduced — of  themselves  irre 
sistible — would  have  been  simply  paramount,  but  for 


THE    STOEY   OF   LITTLE    DOMBEY.  17D 

the  incidental  mention  of  the  mother's  death,  when 
clinging  to  that  frail  spar  within  her  arms,  her  little 
daughter,  "  she  drifted  out  upon  the  dark  and  unknown 
sea  that  rolls  round  all  the  world."  Paul's  little 
wistful  face  looked  out  every  now  and  then,  it  is  true, 
from  among  the  fantastic  forms  and  features  grouped 
around  him,  with  a  growing  sense  upon  the  hearer  of 
what  was  really  meant  by  the  child  being  so  "  old- 
fashioned."  But  the  ludicrous  effect  of  those  sur 
rounding  characters  was  nothing  less  than  all-mastering 
in  its  predominance. 

There  was  Mrs.  Pipchin,  for  example,  that  grim  old 
lady  with  a  mottled  face  like  bad  marble,  who  acquired 
an  immense  reputation  as  a  manager  of  children,  by 
the  simple  device  of  giving  them  everything  they  didn't 
like  and  nothing  that  they  did !  Whose  constitution 
required  mutton  chops  hot  and  hot,  and  battered 
toast  in  similar  relays  !  And  with  whom  one  of  Little 
Dombey's  earliest  dialogues  in  the  Beading  awakened 
invariably  such  bursts  of  hearty  laughter !  Seated  in 
his  tall,  spindle-legged  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  staring 
steadily  at  the  exemplary  Pipchin,  Little  Paul,  we  were 
told,  was  asked  [in  the  most  snappish  voice  possi 
ble],  by  that  austere  female,  What  he  was  thinking 
about? 

"  You,"  [in  the  gentlest  childlike  voice]  said  Paul? 
without  the  least  reserve. 

"And  what  are  you  thinking  about  me  ?  " 

"  I'm — thinking — how  old — you  must  be." 

N   2 


180  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

"  You  mustn't  say  such  things  as  that,  young  gentle 
man.  That'll  never  do." 

"  Why  not  [slowly  and  wonderingiy]  ?  " 

"Never  you  mind,  sir  [shorter  and  sharper  than 
ever].  Remember  the  story  of  the  little  boy  that  was 
gored  to  death  by  a  mad  bull  for  asking  questions." 

"  If  the  bull  [in  a  high  falsetto  voice  and  with  greater 
deliberation  than  ever]  was  mad,  how  did  he  know 
that  the  boy  asked  questions  ?  Nobody  can  go  and 
whisper  secrets  to  a  mad  bull.  I  don't  believe  that 
story." 

Little  Dombey's  fellow-sufferers  at  Mrs.  Pipchin's 
were  hardly  less  ludicrous  in  their  way  than  that  bitter 
old  victim  of  the  Peruvian  mines  in  her  perennial 
weeds  of  black  bombazeen.  Miss  Pankey,  for  instance, 
the  mild  little  blue-eyed  morsel  of  a  child  who  was 
instructed  by  the  Ogress  that  "  nobody  who  sniffed 
before  visitors  ever  went  to  heaven !  "  And  her 
associate  in  misery,  one  Master  Bitherstone,  from 
India,  who  objected  so  much  to  the  Pipchinian  system, 
that  before  Little  Dombey  had  been  in  the  house  five 
minutes,  he  privately  consulted  that  gentleman  if  he 
could  afford  him  any  idea  of  the  way  back  to  Bengal ! 
What  the  Pipchinian  system  was  precisely,  the  Reader 
indicated  perhaps  the  most  happily  by  his  way  of 
saying,  that  instead  of  its  encouraging  a  child's  mind 
to  develop  itself,  like  a  flower,  it  strove  to  open  it  by 
force,  like  an  oyster.  Fading  slowly  away  while  he  is 
yet  under  Mrs.  Pipchin's  management,  poor  little 


THE   STORY   OF    LITTLE    DOMBEY.  181 

Paul,  as  the  audience  well  knew,  was  removed  on  to 
Doctor  Blimber's  Academy  for  Young  Gentlemen. 
There  the  humorous  company  gathered  around  Paul 
immediately  increased.  But,  before  his  going  amongst 
them,  the  Reader  enabled  us  more  vividly  to  realise,  by 
an  additional  touch  or  two,  the  significance  of  the  pecu 
liarity  of  being  "  old  fashioned,"  for  which  the  fading 
child  appeared  in  everybody's  eyes  so  remarkable. 

Wheeled  down  to  the  beach  in  a  little  invalid- 
carriage,  he  would  cling  fondly  to  his  sister  Florence. 
He  would  say  to  any  chance  child  who  might  come 
to  bear  him  company  [in  a  soft,  drawling,  half- 
querulous  voice,  and  with  the  gravest  look],  "  Go 
away,  if  you  please.  Thank  you,  but  I  don't  want 
you."  He  would  wonder  to  himself  and  to  Floy  what 
the  waves  were  always  saying — always  saying !  At 
about  the  middle  of  the  47th  page  of  the  Reading 
copy  of  this  book  about  Little  Dombey,  the  copy  from 
which  Dickens  Read,  both  in  England  and  America, 
there  is,  in  his  handwriting,  the  word — "  Pause." 
It  occurs  just  in  between  Little  Dombey's  confiding  to 
his  sister,  that  if  she  were  in  India  he  should  die  of 
being  so  sorry  and  so  lonely  !  and  the  incident  of 
his  suddenly  waking  up  at  another  time  from  a  long 
sleep  in  his  little  carriage  on  the  shingles,  to  ask  her, 
not  only  What  the  rolling  waves  are  saying  so  con 
stantly,  but  What  place  is  over  there  ? — far  away  ! — 
looking  eagerly,  as  he  inquires,  towards  some  invisible 
region  beyond  the  horizon !  That  momentary  pause 


182  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    EEADER. 

will  be  very  well  remembered  by  everyone  who  attended 
this  Eeading. 

One  single  omission  we  are  still  disposed  to  regret 
in  the  putting  together  of  the  materials  for  this  parti 
cular  Reading  from  the  original  narrative.  In  ap 
proaching  Dr.  Blimber's  establishment  for  the  first 
time,  we  would  gladly  have  witnessed  the  sparring- 
match,  as  one  may  s&y,  on  the  very  threshold,  between 
Mrs.  Pipchin  the  Ogress  in  bombazeen  and  the  weak- 
eyed  young  man-servant  who  opens  the  door!  The 
latter  of  whom,  having  "the  first  faint  streaks  or  early 
dawn  of  a  grin  on  his  countenance — (it  was  mere 
imbecility)"  as  the  Author  himself  explains  paren 
thetically — Mrs.  Pipchin  at  once  takes  it  into  her 
head,  is  inspired  by  impudence,  and  snaps  at  accor 
dingly.  Of  this  we  saw  nothing,  however,  in  the 
Eeading.  We  heard  nothing  of  Mrs.  Pipchin's  explo 
sive,  "  How  dare  you  laugh  behind  the  gentleman's 
back?  "  or  of  the  weak-eyed  young  man's  answering  in 
consternation,  "  I  ain't  a  laughing  at  nobody,  ma'am." 
Any  more  than  of  the  Ogress  saying  a  while  later, 
" You're  laughing  again,  sir!"  or  of  the  young  man, 
grievously  oppressed,  repudiating  the  charge  with,  "  I 
ain't.  I  never  see  such  a  thing  as  this !  "  The  old 
lady  as  she  passed  on  with,  "  Oh  !  he  was  a  precious 
fellow,"  leaving  him,  who  was  in  fact  all  meekness  and 
incapacity,  "  affected  even  to  tears  by  the  incident." 
If  we  saw  nothing,  however,  of  that  retainer  of  Dr. 
Blimber,  we  were  introduced -to  another,  meaning  the 


THE   STORY   OF   LITTLE   DOMBEY.  183 

blue-coated,  bright-buttoned  butler,  "  who  gave  quite  a 
winey  flavour  to  the  table-beer — he  poured  it  out  so 
superbly!  "  We  had  Dr.  Blimber  himself,  besides,  with 
his  learned  legs,  like  a  clerical  pianoforte — a  bald  head, 
highly  polished,  and  a  chin  so  double,  it  was  a  wonder 
how  he  ever  managed  to  shave  into  the  creases.  We 
had  Miss  Blimber,  in  spectacles,  like  a  ghoul,  "  dry 
and  sandy  with  working  in  the  graves  of  decease  1 
languages."  We  had  Mrs.  Blimber,  not  learned  her 
self,  but  pretending  to  be  so,  which  did  quite  as  well, 
languidly  exclaiming  at  evening  parties,  that  if  she 
could  have  known  Cicero,  she  thought  she  could  have 
died  contented.  We  had  Mr.  Feeder,  clipped  to  the 
stubble,  grinding  out  his  classic  stops  like  a  barrel- 
organ  of  erudition.  Above  all,  we  had  Toots,  the 
head  boy,  or  rather  "the  head  and  shoulder  boy," 
he  was  so  much  taller  than  the  rest!  Of  whom  in 
that  intellectual  forcing-house  (where  he  had  "gone 
through "  everything  so  completely,  that  one  day  he 
41  suddenly  left  off  blowing,  and  remained  in  the 
establishment  a  mere  stalk  ")  people  had  come  at  last 
to  say,  "  that  the  Doctor  had  rather  overdone  it  with 
young  Toots,  and  that  when  he  began  to  have  whiskers 
he  left  off  having  brains."  From  the  moment  when 
Young  Toots's  voice  was  first  heard,  in  tones  so  deep, 
and  in  a  manner  so  sheepish,  that  "if  a  lamb  had 
roared  it  couldn't  have  been  more  surprising,"  saying 
to  Little  Dombey  with  startling  suddenness,  "  How 
are  you?" — every  time  the  Eeader  opened  his  lips,  as 


CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 


speaking  in  that  character,  there  was  a  burst  of  merri 
ment.  His  boastful  account  always  called  forth 
laughter  —  that  his  tailor  was  Burgess  and  Co., 
"fash'nable,  but  very  dear."  As  also  did  his  con 
stantly  reiterated  inquiries  of  Paul  —  always  as  an 
entirely  new  idea  —  "  I  say  —  it's  not  of  the  slightest 
consequence,  you  know,  but  I  should  wish  to  mention 
it  —  how  are  you,  you  know  ?  "  Hardly  less  provo 
cative  of  mirth  was  Briggs's  confiding  one  evening  to 
Little  Dombey,  that  his  head  ached  ready  to  split,  and 
"  that  he  should  wish  himself  dead  if  it  wasn't  for  his 
mother  and  a  blackbird  he  had  at  home." 

Wonderful  fun  used  to  be  made  by  the  Reader  of  the 
various  incidents  at  the  entertainment  given  upon  the 
eve  of  the  vacations  by  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Blimber  to 
the  Young  Gentlemen  and  their  Friends,  when  "the 
hour  was  half-past  seven  o'clock,  and  the  object  was 
quadrilles."  The  Doctor  pacing  up  and  down  in  the 
drawing-room,  full  dressed,  before  anybody  had  arrived, 
"  with  a  dignified  and  unconcerned  demeanour,  as  if 
he  thought  it  barely  possible  that  one  or  two  people 
might  drop  in  by-and-by  !  "  His  exclaiming,  when 
Mr.  Toots  and  Mr.  Feeder  were  announced  by  the 
butler,  and  as  if  he  were  extremely  surprised  to  see 
them,  "Aye,  aye,  aye!  God  bless  my  soul!" 
Mr.  Toots,  one  blaze  of  jewellery  and  buttons,  so 
undecided,  "on  a  calm  revision  of  all  the  circum 
stances,"  whether  it  were  better  to  have  his  waistcoat 
fastened  or  unfastened  both  at  top  and  bottom,  as  the 


THE    STORY    OF    LITTLE    DOMBEY.  185 

arrivals  thickened,  so  influencing  him  by  the  force  of 
example,  that  at  the  last  he  was  "  continually  fingering 
that  article  of  dress  as  if  he  were  performing  on  some 
instrument !  "  Thoroughly  enjoyable  though  the  whole 
scene  was  in  its  throng  of  ludicrous  particulars,  it 
merely  led  the  way  up  appreciably  and  none  the  less 
tenderly,  for  all  the  innocent  laughter,  to  the  last  and 
supremely  pathetic  incidents  of  the  story  as  related 
thenceforth  (save  only  for  one  startling  instant)  sotto 
voce,  by  the  Reader. 

The  exceptional  moment  here  alluded  to,  when  his 
voice  was  suddenly  raised,  to  be  hushed  again  the  in 
stant  afterwards,  came  at  the  very  opening  of  the  final 
scene  by  Little  Dombey's  death-bed,  where  the  sun 
beams,  towards  evening,  struck  through  the  rustling 
blinds  and  quivered  on  the  opposite  wall  like  golden 
water.  Overwhelmed,  as  little  Paul  was  occasionally,, 
with  "  his  only  trouble,"  a  sense  of  the  swift  and  rapid 
river,  "he  felt  forced,"  the  Reader  went  on  to  say,  "  to 
try  and  stop  it — to  stem  it  with  his  childish  hands,  or 
choke  its  way  with  sand — and  when  he  saw  it  coming 
on,  resistless,  HE  CRIED  OUT  !"  Dropping  his  voice 
from  that  abrupt  outcry  instantly  afterwards,  to  the 
gentlest  tones,  as  he  added,  "But  a  word  from 
Florence,  who  was  always  at  his  side,  restored  him 
to  himself" — the  Reader  continued  in  those  subdued 
and  tender  accents  to  the  end. 

The  child's  pity  for  his  father's  sorrowing,  was  sur 
passed  only,  as  all  who  witnessed  this  Reading  will 


186  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS   A    READER. 

readily  recollect,  by  the  yet  more  affecting  scene  with 
his  old  nurse.  Waking  upon  a  sudden,  on  the  last  of 
the  many  evenings,  when  the  golden  water  danced  in 
shining  ripples  on  the  wall,  waking  mind  and  body, 
sitting  upright  in  his  bed — 

"  And  who  is  this  ?  Is  this  my  old  nurse  ?  "  asked 
the  child,  regarding  with  a  radiant  smile  a  figure 
coming  in. 

"Yes,  yes.  No  other  stranger  would  have  shed 
those  tears  at  sight  of  him,  and  called  him  her  dear 
boy,  her  pretty  boy,  her  own  poor  blighted  child.  No 
other  woman  would  have  stooped  down  by  his  bed  and 
taken  up  his  wasted  hand  and  put  it  to  her  lips  and 
breast,  as  one  who  had  some  right  to  fondle  it.  No 
other  woman  would  have  so  forgotten  everybody  there 
but  him  and  Floy,  and  been  so  full  of  tenderness  and 
pity." 

The  child's  words  coming  then  so  lovingly:  "Floy! 
this  is  a  kind  good  face  !  I  am  glad  to  see  it  again. 
Don't  go  away,  old  nurse  !  Stay  here  !  Good  bye  !  " 
prepared  one  exquisitely  for  the  rest.  "  Not  good 
bye?"  "'Ah,  yes!  good-bye!" 

Then  the  end !  The  child  having  been  laid  down 
again  with  his  arms  clasped  round  his  sister's  neck, 
telling  her  that  the  stream  was  lulling  him  to  rest, 
that  now  the  boat  was  out  at  sea  and  that  there  was 
shore  before  him,  and — Who  stood  upon  the  bank! 
Putting  his  hands  together  "as  he  had  been  used 
to  do  at  his  prayers  " — not  removing  his  arms  to  do 


THE   STORY   OP    LITTLE   DOMBEY.  187 

it,  but  folding  them  so  behind  his  sister's  neck — 
"Mamma  is  like  you,  Floy!"  he  cried;  "I  know 
her  by  the  face  !  But  tell  them  that  the  picture  on  the 
stairs  at  school  is  not  Divine  enough.  The  light  about 
the  head  is  sliming  on  me  as  I  go! " 

Then  came  two  noble  passages,  nobly  delivered. 

First — when  there  were  no  eyes  unmoistened  among 
the  listeners — 

"  The  golden  ripple  on  the  wall  came  back  again, 
and  nothing  else  stirred  in  the  room.  The  old,  old 
fashion  !  The  fashion  that  came  in  with  our  first 
garments,  and  will  last  unchanged  until  our  race  has 
run  its  course,  and  the  wide  firmament  is  rolled  up 
like  a  scroll.  The  old,  old  fashion — Death !  " 

And  lastly — with  a  tearful  voice — 

"  Oh,  thank  GOD,  all  who  see  it,  for  that  older 
fashion  yet  of  Immortality  !  And  look  upon  us,  Angels 
of  young  children,  with  regards  not  quite  estranged, 
when  the  swift  river  bears  .us  to  the  ocean !  " 

Remembering  which  exquisite  words  as  he  himself 
delivered  them,  having  the  very  tones  of  his  voice  still 
ringing  tenderly  in  our  recollection,  the  truth  of  that 
beautiful  remark  of  Dean  Stanley's  comes  back  anew 
as  though  it  were  now  only  for  the  first  time  realised, 
where,  in  his  funeral  sermon  of  the  19th  June,  1870,  he 
said"  that  it  was  the  inculcation  of  the  lesson  derived 
from  precisely  such  a  scene  as  this  which  will  always 
make  the  grave  of  Charles  Dickens  seem  "  as  though 
it  were  the  very  grave  of  those  little  innocents  whom 


188  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

lie  created  for  our  companionship,  for  our  instruction, 
for  our  delight  and  solace."  The  little  workhouse- 
boy,  the  little  orphan  girl,  the  little  cripple,  who  "not 
only  blessed  his  father's  needy  home,  but  softened  the 
rude  stranger's  hardened  conscience,"  were  severally 
referred  to  by  the  preacher  when  he  gave  this  charm 
ing  thought  its  affecting  application.  But,  foremost 
among  these  bewitching  children  of  the  Novelist's 
imagination,  might  surely  be  placed  the  child-hero  of  a 
story  closing  hardly  so  much  with  his  death  as  with 
his  apotheosis. 


ME.  CHOPS,   THE  DWARF. 


IT  remains  still  a  matter  of  surprise  how  so  much 
was  made  out  of  this  slight  sketch  by  the  simple  force 
of  its  humorous  delivery.  "  Mr.  Chops,  the  Dwarf,"  as, 
indeed,  was  only  befitting,  was  the  smallest  of  all  the 
Readings.  The  simple  little  air  that  so  caught  the 
dreamer's  fancy,  when  played  upon  the  harp  by 
.Scrooge's  niece  by  marriage,  is  described  after  all,  as 
may  be  remembered  by  the  readers  of  the  Carol,  to 
to  have  been  intrinsically  "  a  mere  nothing ;  you 
might  learn  to  whistle  it  in  two  minutes."  Say  that 
in  twenty  minutes,  or,  at  the  outside,  in  half-an- 
hour,  any  ordinarily  glib  talker  might  have  rattled 
through  these  comic  recollections  of  Mr.  Magsman, 
jet,  when  rattled  through  by  Dickens,  the  laughter 
awakened  seems  now  in  the  retrospect  to  have  been 
altogether  out  of  proportion.  In  itself  the  subject  was 
anything  but  attractive,  relating,  as  it  did,  merely  to 
the  escapade  of  a  monstrosity.  The  surroundings  are 
ignoble,  the  language  is  illiterate,  the  narrative  from 
first  to  last  is  characterised  by  its  grotesque  extrava- 


190  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    EEADEE. 

gance.  Yet  the  whole  is  presented  to  view  in  so  utterly 
ludicrous  an  aspect,  that  one  needs  must  laugh  just  as 
surely  as  one  listened.  Turning  over  the  leaves  now, 
and  recalling  to  mind  the  hilarity  they  used  to  excite 
even  among  the  least  impressionable  audience  when 
ever  they  were  fluttered  (there  are  not  a  dozen  of  them 
altogether)  on  the  familiar  reading-desk,  one  marvels 
over  the  success  of  such  an  exceedingly  small  oddity 
as  over  the  remembrance,  let  us  say,  of  the  brilliant 
performance  of  a  fantasia  on  the  jew's-harp  by 
Eulenstein. 

Nevertheless,  slight  though  it  is,  the  limning  all 
through  has  touches  of  the  most  comic  suggestiveness. 
Magsman's  account  of  the  show-house  during  his 
occupancy  is  sufficiently  absurd  to  begin  with — "  the 
picter  of  the  giant  who  was  himself  the  heighth  of  the 
house,"  being  run  up  with  a  line  and  pulley  to  a 
pole  on  the  roof  till  "his  'ed  was  coeval  with  the 
parapet ; "  the  picter  of  the  child  of  the  British 
Planter  seized  by  two  Boa  Constrictors,  "  not  that  we 
never  had  no  child,  nor  no  Constrictors  either;" 
similarly,  the  picter  of  the  Wild  Ass  of  the  Prairies, 
"  not  that  ice  never  had  no  wild  asses,  nor  wouldn't 
have  had  'em  at  a  gift."  And  to  crown  all,  the  picter 
of  the  Dwarf — who  was  "  a  uncommon  small  man,  he 
really  was.  Certainly  not  so  small  as  he  was  made 
out  to  be  ;  but  where  is  your  Dwarf  as  is  ?"  A  picter 
"like  him,  too  (considerin'),  with  George  the  Fourth, 
in  such  a  state  of  astonishment  at  him  as  his  Majesty 


MR.    CHOPS,    THE    DWARF.  191 

couldn't  with  his  utmost  politeness  and  stoutness  ex 
press."  Wrote  up  the  Dwarf  was,  we  are  told  by  Mr. 
Magsman,  as  Major  Tpschoffski — "nobody  couldn't 
pronounce  the  name,"  he  adds,  "  and  it  never  was  in 
tended  anybody  should."  Corrupted  into  Chopski  by 
the  public,  he  gets  called  in  the  line  Chops,  partly  for 
that  reason,  "  partly  because  his  real  name,  if  he  ever 
had  any  real  name  (which  was  dubious),  was  Stakes." 
Wearing  a  diamond  ring  "  (or  quite  as  good  to  look 
at)"  on  his  forefinger,  having  the  run  of  his  teeth, 
"  and  he  was  a  Woodpecker  to  eat — but  all  dwarfs 
are,"  receiving  a  good  salary,  and  gathering  besides 
as  his  perquisites  the  ha'pence  collected  by  him  in  a 
Chaney  sarser  at  the  end  of  every  entertainment,  the 
Dwarf  never  has  any  money  somehow.  Nevertheless, 
having  what  his  admiring  proprietor  considers  "a 
fine  mind,  a  poetic  mind,"  Mr.  Chops  indulges  him 
self  in  the  pleasing  delusion  that  one  of  these  days  he 
is  to  Come  Into  his  Property,  his  ideas  respecting 
which  are  never  realised  by  him  so  powerfully  as  when 
he  sits  upon  a  barrel-organ  and  has  the  handle  turned  ! 
"  Arter  the  wibration  has  run  through  him  a  little 
time,"  says  Mr.  Magsman,  "  he  screeches  out,  '  Toby, 
I  feel  my  property  a-coming — gr-r-rind  away !  I  feel 
the  Mint  a-jingling  in  me.  I'm  a-swelling  out  into 
the  Bank  of  England ! '  Such,"  reflectively  observes 
his  proprietor,  "is  the  influence  of  music  on  a  poetic 
mind ! "  Adding,  however,  immediately  afterwards, 
"  Not  that  he  was  partial  to  any  other  music  but  a 


192  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A   READER. 

barrel-organ;  on  the  contrairy,  hated  it."  Indulging 
in  day-dreams  about  Coming  Into  his  Property  and 
Going  Into  Society,  for  which  he  feels  himself  formed, 
and  to  aspire  towards  which  is  his  avowed  ambition, 
the  mystery,  as  to  where  the  Dwarf's  salary  and 
ha'pence  all  go,  is  one  day  cleared  up  by  his  winning  a 
prize  in  the  Lottery,  a  half-ticket  for  the  twenty-five 
thousand  pounder. 

Mr.  Chops  Comes  Into  his  Property — twelve  thou 
sand  odd  hundred.  Further  than  that,  he  Goes  Into 
Society  "in  a  chay  and  four  greys  with  silk  jackets." 
It  was  at  this  turning-point  in  the  career  of  his  large- 
headed  but  diminutive  hero  that  the  grotesque  humour 
of  the  Header  would  play  upon  the  risible  nerves  of  his 
hearers,  as,  according  to  Mr.  Disraeli's  phrase,  Sir 
Kobert  Peel  used  to  play  upon  the  House  of  Com 
mons,  "like  an  old  fiddle."  Determined  to  Go  Into 
Society  in  style,  with  his  twelve  thousand  odd  hundred, 
Mr.  Chops,  we  are  told,  "  sent  for  a  young  man  he 
knowed,  as  had  a  very  genteel  appearance,  and  was  a 
Bonnet  at  a  gaming-booth.  Most  respectable  brought 
up,"  adds  Mr.  Magsman — "father  having  been  immi 
nent  in  the  livery- stable  line,  but  unfortunate  in  a 
commercial  crisis  through  painting  a  old  grey  ginger- 
bay,  and  sellin'  him  with  a  pedigree."  In  intimate 
companionship  with  this  Bonnet,  "  who  said  his  name 
was  Normandy,  which  it  warn't,"  Mr.  Magsman,  on 
invitation  by  note  a  little  while  afterwards,  visits  Mr. 
Chops  at  his  lodgings  in  Pall  Mall,  London,  where  he 


MR.    CHOPS,    THE    DWARF.  193 

is  found  carousing  not  only  with  the  Bonnet  but  with 
a  third  party,  of  whom  we  were  then  told  with  uncon 
scionable  gravity,  "  When  last  met,  he  had  on  a  white 
Eoman  shirt,  and  a  bishop's  mitre  covered  with  leopard- 
skin,  and  played  the  clarionet  all  wrong  in  a  band  at  a 
Wild  Beast  Show."  How  the  reverential  Magsman, 
finding  the  three  of  them  blazing  away,  blazes  away 
in  his  turn  while  remaining  in  their  company,  who, 
that  once  heard  it,  has  forgotten?  "I  made  the 
round  of  the  bottles,"  he  says — evidently  proud  of  his 
achievement — "  first  separate  (to  say  I  had  done  it), 
and  then  mixed  'em  altogether  (to  say  I  had  done  it), 
and  then  tried  two  of  'em  as  half-and-half,  and  then 
t'other  two  ;  altogether,"  he  adds,  "  passin'  a  pleasin' 
€venin*  with  a  tendency  to  feel  muddled."  How  all 
Mr.  Chop's  blazing  away  is  to  terminate  everybody  but 
himself  perceives  clearly  enough  from  the  commence 
ment. 

Normandy  having  bolted  with  the  plate,  and  "  him 
as  formerly  wore  the  bishop's  mitre  "  with  the  jewels, 
the  Dwarf  gets  out  of  society  by  being,  as  he  signifi 
cantly  expresses  it,  "sold  out,"  and  in  this  plight 
returns  penitently  one  evening  to  the  show-house  of 
his  still-admiring  proprietor.  Mr.  Magsman  happens 
at  the  moment  to  be  having  a  dull  tete-a-tete  with  a 
young  man  without  arms,  who  gets  his  living  by 
writing  with  his  toes,  "  which,"  says  the  low-spirited 
narrator,  "  I  had  taken  on  for  a  month — though  lie 
never  drawed — except  on  paper."  Hearing  a  kicking 


CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    HEADER. 

at  the  street-door,  "  '  Halloa ! '  I  says  to  the  young- 
man,  '  what's  up  ? '  He  rubs  his  eyebrows  with  his- 
toes,  and  he  says,  '  I  can't  imagine,  Mr.  Magsman  ' — 
which  that  young  man  [with  an  air  of  disgust]  never 
could  imagine  nothiii',  and  was  monotonous  company. 'r 
Mr.  Chops — "  I  never  dropped  the  '  Mr.'  with  him," 
says  his  again  proprietor;  "the  world  might  do  it, 
but  not  me  " — eventually  dies.  Having  sat  upon  the 
barrel-organ  over  night,  and  had  the  handle  turned 
through  all  the  changes,  for  the  first  and  only  time 
after  his  fall,  Mr.  Chops  is  found  on  the  following 
morning,  as  the  disconsolate  Magsman  expresses  \if 
"  gone  into  much  better  society  than  either  mine  or 
Pall  Mall's."  Out  of  such  unpromising  materials  as 
these  could  the  alembic  of  a  genius  all-embracing  in  its- 
sympathies  extract  such  an  abundance  of  innocent 
mirth — an  illiterate  showman  talking  to  us  all  the  while 
about  such  people  as  the  Bonnet  of  a  gaming-boothr 
or  a  set  of  monstrosities  he  himself  has,  for  a  few 
coppers,  on  exhibition.  Yet,  as  Mr.  Magsman  himself 
remarks  rather  proudly  when  commenting  on  his  own 
establishment,  "  as  for  respectability, — if  threepence 
ain't  respectable,  what  is  ?" 


THE  POOR  TRAVELLER. 


APART  altogether  from  the  Readings  of  Charles 
Dickens,  has  the  reader  of  this  book  any  remembrance 
of  the  original  story  of  "  The  Poor  Traveller  "  ?  If 
he  has,  he  will  recognise  upon  the  instant  the  truth 
of  the  words  in  which  we  would  here  speak  of  it, 
as  of  one  of  those,  it  may  be,  slight  but  exquisite 
sketches,  which  are  sometimes,  in  a  happy  moment, 
thrown  off  by  the  hand  of  a  great  master.  Compara 
tively  trivial  in  itself — carelessly  dashed  off,  apparently 
Lap-hazard — having  no  pretension  about  it  in  the 
least,  it  is  anything,  in  short,  but  a  finished  master 
piece.  Yet,  for  all  that,  it  is  marked,  here  and  there, 
by  touches  so  felicitous  and  inimitable  in  their  way, 
that  we  hardly  find  the  like  in  the  artist's  more  highly 
elaborated  and  ambitious  productions.  Not  that  one 
would  speak  of  it,  however,  as  of  a  drawing  upon  toned 
paper  in  neutral  tint,  or  as  of  a  picture  pencilled  in  sepia 
or  with  crayons;  one  would  rather  liken  it  to  a  radiant 
water-colour,  chequered  with  mingled  storm  and  sun 
shine,  sparkling  with  lifelike  effects,  and  glowing  with 

o  2 


196  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

brilliancy.  And  yet  the  little  work  is  one,  when  you 
come  to  look  into  it,  that  is  but  the  product  of  a 
seemingly  artless  abandon,  in  which  without  an  effort 
the  most  charming  results  have  been  arrived  at, 
obviously  upon  the  instant,  and  quite  unerringly. 

Trudging  down  to  Chatham,  footsore  and  without  a 
farthing  in  his  pocket,  it  is  in  this  humble  guise  first 
of  all  that  he  comes  before  us,  this  Poor  Traveller. 
Christian  name,  Richard,  better  known  as  Dick,  his 
own  surname  dropped  upon  the  road,  he  assumes  that 
of  Doubledick — being  thenceforth  spoken  of  all  through 
the  tale,  even  to  the  very  end  of  it,  by  his  new  name,  as 
Richard  Doubledick.  A  scapegrace,  a  ne'er-do-well, 
an  incorrigible,  hopeless  of  himself,  despaired  of  by 
others,  he  has  "gone  wrong  and  run  wild."  His 
heart,  still  in  the  right  place,  has  been  sealed  up. 
"  Betrothed  to  a  good  and  beautiful  girl  whom  he  had 
loved  better  than  she — or  perhaps  even  he — believed," 
he  had  given  her  cause,  in  an  evil  hour,  to  tell  him 
solemnly  that  she  would  never  marry  any  other  man ; 
that  she  would  live  single  for  his  sake,  but  that  her 
lips,  "that  Mary  Marshall's  lips,"  would  never  address 
another  word  to  him  on  earth,  bidding  him  in  the  end 
— Go  !  and  Heaven  forgive  him  !  Hence,  in  point  of 
fact,  this  journey  of  his  on  foot  down  to  Chatham,  for 
the  purpose  of  enlisting,  if  possible,  in  a  cavalry 
regiment,  his  object  being  to  get  shot,  though  he  him 
self  thinks  in  his  devil-may-care  indifference,  that  "he 
might  as  well  ride  to  death  as  be  at  the  trouble  of 


THE    POOR   TRAVELLER.  197 

walking."  Premising  simply  that  his  hero's  age  is  at 
this  time  twenty-two,  and  his  height  five  foot  ten,  and 
that,  there  being  no  cavalry  at  the  moment  in  Chatham, 
he  enlists  into  a  regiment  of  the  line,  where  he  is 
glad  to  get  drunk  and  forget  all  about  it,  the  Author 
readily  made  the  path  clear  for  the  opening  up  of  his 
narrative. 

Whenever  Charles  Dickens  introduced  this  tale 
among  his  Readings,  how  beautifully  he  related  it ! 
After  recounting  how  Private  Doubledick  was  clearly 
going  to  the  dogs,  associating  himself  with  the  dregs 
of  every  regiment,  seldom  being  sober  and  constantly 
under  punishment,  until  it  became  plain  at  last  to  the 
whole  barracks  that  very  soon  indeed  he  would  come 
to  be  flogged,  when  the  Reader  came  at  this  point  to 
the  words — "  Now  the  captain  of  Doubleclick's  company 
was  a  young  gentleman  not  above  five  years  his  senior, 
whose  eyes  had  an  expression  in  them  which  affected 
Private  Doubledick  in  a  very  remarkable  way" — the 
effect  was  singularly  striking.  Out  of  the  Reader's 
own  eyes  would  look  the  eyes  of  that  Captain,  as  the 
Author  himself  describes  them  :  "  They  were  bright, 
handsome,  dark  eyes,  what  are  called  laughing  eyes 
generally,  and,  when  serious,  rather  steady  than 
severe."  But,  he  immediately  went  on  to  say,  they 
were  the  only  eyes  then  left  in  his  narrowed  world  that 
could  not  be  met  without  a  sense  of  shame  by  Private 
Doubledick.  Insomuch  that  if  he  observed  Captain 
Taunton  coming  towards  him,  even  when  he  himself 


198  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

was  most  callous  and  unabashed,  "  lie  would  rather 
turn  back  and  go  any  distance  out  of  the  way,  than 
encounter  those  two  handsome,  dark,  bright  eyes." 
Here  it  was  that  came,  what  many  will  still  vividly 
remember,  as  one  of  the  most  exquisitely  portrayed 
incidents  in  the  whole  of  this  Reading — the  interview 
between  Captain  Taunton  and  Private  Doubledick ! 

The  latter,  having  passed  forty-eight  hours  in  the 
Black  Hole,  has  been  just  summoned,  to  his  great 
dismay,  to  the  Captain's  quarters.  Having  about 
him  all  the  squalor  of  his  incarceration,  he  shrinks 
from  making  his  appearance  before  one  whose  silent 
gaze  even  was  a  reproach.  However,  not  being  so 
mad  yet  as  to  disobey  orders,  he  goes  up  to  the 
officers'  quarters  immediately  upon  his  release  from 
the  Black  Hole,  twisting  and  breaking  in  his  hands 
as  he  goes  along  a  bit  of  the  straw  that  had  formed 
its  decorative  furniture. 

"  '  Come  in  ! ' 

"  Private  Doubledick  pulled  off  his  cap,  took  a  stride 
forward  and  stood  in  the  light  of  the  dark  bright 
eyes." 

From  that  moment  until  the  end  of  the  interview, 
the  two  men  alternately  were  standing  there  distinctly 
before  the  audience  upon  the  platform. 

"Doubledick!  do  you  know  where  you  are  going 
to?" 

' '  To  the  devil,  sir  !  " 

"Yes,  and  very  fast." 


THE    POOR   TRAVELLER.  199 

Thereupon  one  did  not  hear  the  words  simply,  one 
saw  it  done  precisely  as  it  is  described  in  the  original 
narrative  :  "  Private  Richard  Double  dick  turned  the 
straw  of  the  Black  Hole  in  his  mouth  and  made  a 
miserable  salute  of  acquiescence."  Captain  Taunton 
then  remonstrates  with  him  thus  earnestly  :  "  Double- 
dick,  since  I  entered  his  Majesty's  service,  a  boy  of 
seventeen,  I  have  been  pained  to  see  many  men  of 
promise  going  that  road ;  but  I  have  never  been  so 
pained  to  see  a  man  determined  to  make  the  shameful 
journey,  as  I  have  been,  ever  since  you  joined  the 
regiment,  to  see  you."  At  this  point  in  the  printed 
story,  as  it  was  originally  penned,  one  reads  that 
il  Private  Richard  Doubledick  began  to  find  a  film 
stealing  over  the  floor  at  which  he  looked ;  also  to 
find  the  legs  of  the  Captain's  breakfast-table  turning 
crooked  as  if  he  saw  them  through  water."  Although 
those  words  are  erased  in  the  reading  copy,  and  were 
not  uttered,  pretty  nearly  the  effect  of  them  was 
visible  when,  after  a  momentary  pause,  the  dis 
heartened  utterance  was  faltered  out — 

"  I  am  only  a  common  soldier,  sir.  It  signifies 
very  little  what  such  a  poor  brute  comes  to." 

In  answer  to  the  next  remonstrance  from  his  officer, 
Doubledick's  words  are  blurted  out  yet  more  de 
spairingly — 

"  I  hope  to  get  shot  soon,  sir,  and  then  the  regi 
ment,  and  the  world  together,  will  be  rid  of  me  !  " 

What   are   the   descriptive   words  immediately  fol- 


200  CHARLES  DICKENS  AS   A   EEADER. 

lowing  this  in  tlie  printed  narrative  ?  They  also  were 
visibly  expressed  upon  the  platform.  ''Looking  up 
he  met  the  eyes  that  had  so  strong  an  influence  over 
him.  He  put  his  hand  berore  his  own  eyes,  and  the 
breast  of  his  disgrace -jacket  swelled  as  if  it  would  fly 
asunder."  His  observant  adviser  thereupon  quietly 
but  very  earnestly  remarks,  that  he  would  rather  see 
this  in  him  (Doubledick)  than  he  would  see  five 
thousand  guineas  counted  out  upon  the  table  between 
them  for  a  gift  to  his  (the  Captain's)  good  mother, 'r 
adding  suddenly,  "Have  you  a  mother?"  Double 
dick  is  thankful  to  say  she  is  dead.  Keminded  by  the 
Captain  that  if  his  praises  were  sounded  from  mouth 
to  mouth  through  the  whole  regiment,  through  the 
whole  army,  through  the  whole  countiy,  he  would  wish 
she  had  lived  to  say  with  pride  and  joy,  "  He  is  my 
son!"  Doubledick  .cries  out,  "Spare  me,  sir!  She 
would  never  have  heard  any  good  of  me.  She  would 
never  have  had  any  pride  or  joy  in  owning  herself  my 
mother.  Love  and  compassion  she  might  have  had, 
and  would  always  have  had,  I  know;  but  not — spare 
me,  sir  !  I  am  a  broken  wretch  quite  at  your  mercy." 
By  this  time,  according  to  the  words  of  the  writing, 
according  only  to  the  eloquent  action  of  the  Reading, 
"He  had  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  stretched 
out  his  imploring  hand."  How  eloquently  that  "  im 
ploring  hand "  spoke  in  the  agonised,  dumb  suppli 
cation  of  its  movement,  coupled  as  it  was  with  the 
shaken  frame  and  the  averted  countenance,  those  who- 


THE    K)OR   TRAVELLER.  201 

witnessed  this  Beading  will  readily  recall  to  their 
recollection.  As  also  the  emotion  expressed  in  the 
next  broken  utterances  exchanged  by  the  interlocu 
tors  : — 

"  My  friend " 

"  God  bless  you,  sir  !  " 

Captain  Taunton,  interrupted  for  the  moment, 
adding — 

"You  are  at  the  crisis  of  your  fate,  my  friend. 
Hold  your  course  unchanged  a  little  longer,  and  you 
know  what  must  happen.  /  know  better  than  ever 
you  can  imagine,  that  after  that  has  happened  you  are 
a  lost  man.  No  man  who  could  shed  such  tears  could 
bear  such  marks." 

Doubleclick,  replying  in  a  low  shivering  voice,  "  I 
fully  believe  it,  sir,"  the  young  Captain  adds — 

"  But  a  man  in  any  station  can  do  his  duty,  and  in 
doing  it  can  earn  his  own  respect,  even  if  his  case 
should  be  so  very  unfortunate  and  so  very  rare,  tliat 
he  can  earn  no  other  man's.  A  common  soldier,  poor 
brute  though  you  called  him  just  now,  has  this  advan 
tage  in  the  stormy  times  we  live  in,  that  he  always 
does  his  duty  before  a  host  of  sympathising  witnesses. 
Do  you  doubt  that  he  may  so  do  it  as  to  be  extolled 
through  a  whole  regiment,  through  a  whole  army, 
through  a  whole  country  ?  Turn  while  you  may  yet 
retrieve  the  past  and  try." 

With  a  nearly  bursting  heart  Bichard  cries  out,  "  I 
will !  I  ask  but  one  witness,  sir !  "  The  reply  is 


202  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

instant  and  significant,  "  I  understand  you.  I  will  be 
a  watchful  and  a  faithful  one."  It  is  a  compact 
between  them,  a  compact  sealed  and  ratified.  "  I 
have  heard  from  Private  Doubledick's  own  lips,"  said 
the  narrator,  and  in  tones  how  manly  and  yet  how 
tender  in  their  vibration,  "that  he  dropped  down  upon 
his  knee,  kissed  that  officer's  hand,  arose,  and  went 
out  of  the  light  of  the  dark  bright  eyes,  an  altered 
man."  From  the  date  to  them  both  of  this  memorable 
interview  he  followed  the  two  hither  and  thither  among 
the  battle-fields  of  the  great  war  between  England  in 
coalition  with  the  other  nations  of  Europe  and  Napo 
leon. 

Wherever  Captain  Taunton  led,  there,  "  close  to 
him,  ever  at  his  side,  firm  as  a  rock,  true  as  the 
sun,  brave  as  Mars,"  would  for  certain  be  found  that 
famous  soldier  Sergeant  Doubleclick.  As  Sergeant- 
Major  the  latter  is  shown,  later  on,  upon  one  desperate 
occasion  cutting  his  way  single-handed  through  a  mass 
of  men,  recovering  the  colours  of  his  regiment,  and 
rescuing  his  wounded  Captain  from  the  very  jaws  of 
death  "in  a  jungle  of  horses'  hoofs  and  sabres" — for 
which  deed  of  gallantry  and  all  but  desperation,  he  is 
forthwith  raised  from  the  ranks,  appearing  no  longer 
as  a  non-commissioned  officer,  but  as  Ensign  Double- 
dick.  At  last,  one  fetal  day  in  the  trenches,  during 
the  siege  of  Badajos,  Major  Taunton  and  Ensign 
Doubledick  find  themselves  hurrying  forward  against 
a  party  of  French  infantry.  At  this  juncture,  at  the 


THE    POOR   TRAVELLER.  203 

very  moment  when  Doubleclick  sees  the  officer  at  the 
head  of  the  enemy's  soldiery — "  a  courageous,  hand 
some,  gallant  officer  of  five-and- thirty  " — waving  his 
sword,  and  with  an  eager  and  excited  cry  rallying  his 
men,  they  fire,  and  Major  Taunton  has  dropped. 
The  encounter  closing  within  ten  minutes  afterwards 
on  the  arrival  of  assistance  to  the  two  Englishmen, 
"  the  best  friend  man  ever  had  "  is  laid  upon  a  coat 
spread  out  upon  the  wet  clay  by  the  heart-riven 
subaltern,  whom  years  before  his  generous  counsel 
had  rescued  from  ignominious  destruction.  Three 
little  spots  of  blood  are  visible  on  the  shirt  of  Major 
Taunton  as  he  lies  there  with  the  breast  of  his  uniform 
opened. 

"Dear  Doubleclick, — I  am  dying." 

"  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  no !  Taunton !  My 
preserver,  my  guardian  angel,  my  witness  !  Dearest, 
truest,  kindest  of  human  beings !  Taunton !  For 
God's  sake  !  " 

To  listen  to  that  agonised  entreaty  as  it  started 
from  the  trembling  and  one  could  almost  have  fancied 
whitened  lips  of  the  Reader,  was  to  be  with  him  there 
upon  the  instant  on  the  far-off  battle-field.  Taunton 
dies  "  with  his  hand  upon  the  breast  in  which  he  had 
revived  a  soul."  Doubleclick,  prostrated  and  incon 
solable  in  his  bereavement,  has  but  two  cares  seem 
ingly  for  the  rest  of  his  existence — one  to  preserve  a 
packet  of  hair  to  be  given  to  the  mother  of  the  friend 
lost  to  him ;  the  other,  to  encounter  that  French 


204  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS  A   READER. 

officer  who  had  rallied  the  men  under  whose  fire  that 
friend  had  fallen.  "A  new  legend,"  quoth  the  nar 
rator,  "now  began  to  incubate  among  our  troops;  and 
it  was,  that  when  he  and  the  French  officer  came  face 
to  face  once  more,  there  would  be  weeping  in  France." 
Failing  to  meet  him,  however,  through  all  the  closing 
scenes  of  the  great  war,  Doubledick,  by  this  time 
promoted  to  his  lieutenancy,  follows  the  old  regimental 
colours,  ragged,  scarred,  and  riddled  with  shot,  through 
the  fierce  conflicts  of  Quatre  Bras  and  Ligny,  falling  at 
last  desperately  wounded — all  but  dead — upon  the  field 
of  Waterloo. 

How,  having  been  tenderly  nursed  during  the  total 
eclipse  of  an  appallingly  lengthened  period  of  un 
consciousness,  he  wakes  up  at  last  in  Brussels  to 
find  that  during  a  little  more  than  momentary  and 
at  first  an  utterly  forgotten  interval  of  his  stupor, 
he  has  been  married  to  the  gentle-handed  nurse 
who  has  been  all  the  while  in  attendance  upon  him, 
and  who  is  no  other,  of  course,  than  his  faithful 
first  love,  Mary  Marshall !  How,  returning  home 
wards,  an  invalided  hero,  Captain  Doubledick  becomes, 
in  a  manner,  soon  afterwards,  the  adopted  son  of 
Major  Taunton's  mother!  How  the  latter,  having 
gone,  some  time  later,  on  a  visit  to  a  French  family 
near  Aix,  is  followed  by  her  other  son,  her  other  self, 
he  has  almost  come  to  be,  "  now  a  hardy,  handsome 
man  in  the  full  vigour  of  life,"  on  his  receiving  from 
the  head  of  the  house  a  gracious  and  courtly  invitation 


THE    POOR   TRAVELLER.  205 

for  "  the  honour  of  the  company  of  cet  liomme  si  juste- 
ment  celebre,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Richard  Double- 
dick  ! "  These  were  among  the  incidents  in  due 
sequence  immediately  afterwards  recounted ! 

Arriving  at  the  old  chateau  upon  a  fete-day,  when 
the  household  are  scattered  abroad  in  the  gardens 
and  shrubberies  at  their  rejoicings,  Captain  Double- 
dick  passes  through  the  open  porch  into  the  lofty  stone 
hall.  There,  being  a  total  stranger,  he  is  almost 
scared  by  the  intrusive  clanking  of  his  boots.  Sud 
denly  he  starts  back,  feeling  his  face  turn  white  !  For, 
in  the  gallery  looking  down  at  him,  is  the  French 
officer  whose  picture  he  has  carried  in  his  mind  so 
long  and  so  far.  The  latter,  disappearing  in  another 
instant  for  the  staircase,  enters  directly  afterwards 
with  a  bright  sudden  look  upon  his  countenance, 
"  Such  a  look  as  it  had  worn  in  that  fatal  moment,"  so 
well  and  so  terribly  remembered !  All  this  was  por 
trayed  with  startling  vividness  by  the  Author  of  the 
little  sketch  in  his  capacity  as  the  sympathetic  realizer 
of  the  dreams 'of  his  own  imagination. 

Exquisite  was  the  last  glimpse  of  the  delineation,  when 
the  Captain — after  many  internal  revulsions  of  feeling, 
while  he  gazes  through  the  window  of  the  bed-chamber 
.allotted  to  him  in  the  old  chateau,  "whence  he  could 
see  the  smiling  prospect  and  the  peaceful  vineyards  " — 
thinks  musingly  to  himself,  "  Spirit  of  my  departed 
friend,  is  it  through  thee  these  better  thoughts  are  rising 
in  my  mind !  Is  it  thou  who  hast  shown  me,  all  the  way 


206  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS   A    READER. 

I  have  been  drawn  to  meet  this  man,  the  blessings  of 
the  altered  time !  Is  it  thou  who  hast  sent  thy  stricken 
mother  to  me,  to  stay  my  angry  hand  !  Is  it  from  thee 
the  whisper  comes,  that  this  man  only  did  his  duty  as 
thou  didst — and  as  I  did  through  thy  guidance,  which 
saved  me,  here  on  earth — and  that  he  did  no  more  !  " 
Then  it  was,  we  were  told,  there  came  to  him  the 
second  and  crowning  resolution  of  his  life  :  "  That 
neither  to  the  French  officer,  nor  to  the  mother  of  his 
departed  friend,  nor  to  any  soul  while  either  of  the 
two  was  living,  would  he  breathe  what  only  he  knew." 
Then  it  was  that  the  author  perfected  his  Beading  by 
the  simple  utterance  of  its  closing  words — "  And  when 
he  touched  that  French  officer's  glass  with  his  own 
that  day  at  dinner,  he  secretly  forgave  him — forgave 
him  in  the  name  of  the  Divine  Forgiver."  With  a 
moral  no  less  noble  and  affecting,  no  less  grand  and 
elevating  than  this,  the  lovely  idyll  closed.  The  final 
glimpse  of  the  scene  at  the  old  Aix  chateau  was  like 
the  view  of  a  sequestered  orchard  through  the  ivied 
porchway  of  a  village  church.  The  concluding  words- 
of  the  prelection  were  like  the  sound  of  the  organ 
voluntary  at  twilight,  when  the  worshippers  are  dis 
persing. 


MES.   GAMP. 


A  WHIMSICAL  and  delightful  recollection  comes  back 
to  the  writer  of  these  pages  at  the  moment  of  inscribing 
as  the  title  of  this  Beading  the  name  of  the  prepos 
terous  old  lady  who  is  the  real  heroine  of  "  Martin  Chuz- 
zlewit."  It  is  the  remembrance  of  Charles  Dickens's 
hilarious  enjo}Tment  of  a  casual  jest  thrown  out,  upon 
his  having  incidentally  mentioned  —  as  conspicuous 
among  the  shortcomings  of  the  first  acting  version 
of  that  stoiy  upon  the  boards  of  the  Lyceum — the 
certainly  surprising  fact  that  Mrs.  Gamp's  part,  as 
originally  set  down  for  Keele}T,had  not  a  single  "which" 
in  it.  "  "Why,  it  ought  actually  to  have  begun  with 
one  !  "  was  the  natural  exclamation  of  the  person  he 
was  addressing,  who  added  instantly,  with  aifected 
indignation,  "  Not  one  ?  Why,  next  they'll  be  playing 
Macbeth  without  the  Witches  !  "  The  joyous  laugh 
with  which  this  ludicrous  conceit  was  greeted  by  the 
Humorist,  still  rings  freshly  and  musically  in  our 
remembrance.  And  the  recollection  of  it  is  doubtless 
all  the  more  vivid  because  of  the  mirthful  retrospect 


208  CHAELES   DICKENS    AS   A   READER. 

having  relation  to  one  of  the  most  recent  of  Dickens's 
blithe  home  dinners  in  his  last  town  residence  imme 
diately  before  his  hurried  return  to  Gad's  Hill  in  the 
summer  of  1870.  Although  we  were  happily  with  him 
afterwards,  immediately  before  the  time  came  when  we 
could  commune  with  him  no  more,  the  occasion  referred 
to  is  one  in  which  we  recall  him  to  mind  as  he  was 
when  we  saw  him  last  at  his  very  gayest,  radiant  with 
that  sense  of  enjoyment  which  it  was  his  especial 
delight  to  diffuse  around  him  throughout  his  life  so 
abundantly. 

Among  all  his  humorous  creations,  Mrs.  Gamp  is 
perhaps  the  most  intensely  original  and  the  most  tho 
roughly  individualised.  She  is  not  only  a  creation  of 
character,  she  is  in  herself  a  creator  of  character.  To 
the  Novelist  we  are  indebted  for  Mrs.  Gamp,  but  to 
Mrs.  Gamp  herself  we  are  indebted  for  Mrs.  Harris. 
That  most  mythical  of  all  imaginary  beings  is  certainly 
quite  unique ;  she  is  strictly,  as  one  may  say,  sui  generis 
in  the  whole  world  of  fiction.  A  figment  born  from  a 
figment ;  one  fancy  evolved  from  another  ;  the  shadow 
of  a  shadow.  If  only  in  remembrance  of  that  one  daring 
adumbration  from  Mrs.  Gamp's  inner  consciousness,  that 
purely  supposititious  entity  "  which  her  name,  I'll  not 
deceive  you,  is  Harris,"  one  would  sa}^  that  Mr.  Mould, 
the  undertaker,  has  full  reason  for  exclaiming,  in  regard 
to  Mrs.  Gamp,  "  I'll  tell  you  what,  that's  a  woman 
whose  intellect  is  immensely  superior  to  her  station  in 
life.  That's  a  woman  who  observes  and  reflects  in  a 


MRS.    GAMP.  209 

wonderful  manner."  Mr.  Mould  becomes  so  strongly 
impressed  at  last  with  a  sense  of  her  exceptional 
merits,  that  in  a  deliciously  ludicrous  outburst  of  pro 
fessional  generosity  he  caps  the  climax  of  his  eulogium 
by  observing,  "  She's  the  sort  of  woman,  now,  that  one 
would  almost  feel  disposed  to  bury  for  nothing — and  do 
it  neatly,  too  !  "  Thoroughly  akin,  by  the  way,  to 
which  exceedingly  questionable  expression  of  goodwill 
on  the  part  of  Mr.  Mould,  is  Mrs.  Gamp's  equally 
confiding  outburst  of  philanthropy  from  her  point  of 
view,  where  she  remarks — of  course  to  her  familiar,  as 
Socrates  when  communing  with  his  Daemon — "  '  Mrs. 
Harris,'  I  says  to  her,  '  don't  name  the  charge,  for  if  I 
could  afford  to  lay  my  fellow-creeturs  out  for  nothink, 
I  would  gladly  do  it,  sich  is  the  love  I  bears  'em.'  " 

A  benevolent  unbosoming,  or  self-revelation,  that 
last,  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Gamp,  so  astoundingly  out 
spoken  of  its  kind,  that  it  forces  upon  one,  in  regard 
to  her  whole  character,  the  almost  inevitable  reflection 
that  her  grotesque  and  inexhaustible  humour,  like 
Falstaff's  irrepressible  and  exhilarating  wit,  redeems 
what  would  be  otherwise  in  itself  utterly  irredeemable. 
For,  as  commentators  have  remarked,  in  regard  to 
Shakspere's  Fat  Knight,  that  Sir  John  is  an  unwieldy 
mass  of  every  conceivable  bad  quality,  being,  among 
other  things,  a  liar,  a  coward,  a  drunkard,  a  braggart, 
a  cheat,  and  a  debauchee,  one  might  bring,  if  not  an 
equally  formidable,  certainly  an  equally  lengthened, 
indictment  against  the  whole  character  of  Mrs.  Gamp, 


210  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS  A   READER. 

justifying  the  validity  of  each  disreputable  charge  upon 
the  testimony  of  her  own  evidence. 

In  its  way,  the  impersonation  of  Mrs.  Gamp  by  her 
creator  was  nearly  as  surprising  as  his  original  delinea 
tion  of  her  in  his  capacity  as  Novelist.  Happily,  to 
bring  out  the  finer  touches  of  the  humorous  in  her 
portraiture,  there  were  repeated  asides  in  the  Reading, 
added  to  which  other  contrasting  characters  were  here 
and  there  momentarily  introduced.  Mr.  Pecksniff— 
hardly  recognisable,  by  the  way,  as  Mr.  Pecksniff- 
took  part,  but  a  very  subordinate  part,  in  the  conver 
sation,  as  did  Mr.  Mould  also,  and  as,  towards  the 
close  of  it,  likewise  did  Mrs.  Prig  of  Bartlemy's.  But, 
monopolist  though  Mrs.  Gamp  showed  herself  to  be  in 
her  manner  of  holding  forth,  her  talk  never  degenerated 
into  a  monologue. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  setting  forth  in  a  hackney  cabriolet  to 
arrange,  on  behalf  of  Jonas  Chuzzlewit,  for  the  funeral 
of  the  latter's  father,  in  regard  to  which  he  is  enjoined 
to  spare  110  expense,  arrives,  in  due  course,  in  Kings- 
gate-street,  High  Holborn,  in  quest  of  the  female 
functionary — "a  nurse  and  watcher,  and  performer  of 
nameless  offices  about  the  dead,  whom  the  undertaker 
had  recommended."  His  destination  is  reached  when 
he  stands  face  to  face  with  the  lady's  lodging  over  the 
bird-fancier's,  "  next  door  but  one  to  the  celebrated 
mutton-pie  shop,  and  directly  opposite  to  the  original 
cats' -meat  warehouse."  Here  Mr.  Pecksniff's  per 
formance  upon  the  knocker  naturally  arouses  the  whole 


MRS.    GAMP.  211 

neighbourhood,  it,  the  knocker,  being  so  ingeniously 
constructed  as  to  wake  the  street  with  ease,  without 
making  the  smallest  impression  upon  the  premises  to 
which  it  was  addressed.  Everybody  is  at  once  under 
the  impression  that,  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  is  "  upon 
an  errand  touching  not  the  close  of  life,  but  the  other 
end  " — the  married  ladies,  especially,  crying  out  with 
uncommon  interest,  "  Knock  at  the  winder,  sir,  knock 
at  the  winder !  Lord  bless  you,  don't  lose  no  more 
time  than  you  can  help,— knock  at  the  winder !  " 
Mrs.  Gamp  herself,  when  roused,  is  under  the  same 
embarrassing  misapprehension.  Immediately,  how 
ever,  Mr.  Pecksniff  has  explained  the  object  of  his 
mission,  Mrs.  Gamp,  who  has  a  face  for  all  occasions, 
thereupon  putting  on  her  mourning  countenance,  the 
surrounding  matrons,  while  rating  her  visitor  roundly, 
signify  that  they  would  be  glad  to  know  what  he  means 
by  terrifying  delicate  females  with  "  his  corpses  !  " 
The  unoffending  gentleman  eventually,  after  hustling 
Mrs.  Gamp  into  the  cabriolet,  drives  off  "  overwhelmed 
with  popular  execration." 

Here  it  is  that  Mrs.  Gamp's  distinctive  characteristics 
begin  to  assert  themselves  conspicuously.  Her  labour 
ing  under  the  most  erroneous  impressions  as  to  the 
conveyance  in  which  she  is  travelling,  evidently  con 
founding  it  with  mail-coaches,  insomuch  that,  in  regard 
to  her  luggage,  she  clamours  to  the  driver  to  "  put  it 
in  the  boot,"  her  absorbing  anxiety  about  the  pattens, 
"  with  which  she  plays  innumerable  games  of  quoits 

p  2 


212  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

upon  Mr.  Pecksniff's  legs,"  her  evolutions  in  that 
confined  space  with  her  most  prominently  visible 
chattel,  "  a  species  of  gig  umbrella,"  prepare  the  way 
for  her  still  more  characteristic  confidences.  Then  in 
earnest — she  had  spoken  twice  before  that  from  her 
window  over  the  bird-fancier's — but  then  in  earnest, 
on  their  approaching  the  house  of  mourning,  her  voice, 
in  the  Heading,  became  recognisable.  A  voice  snuffy, 
husky,  unctuous,  the  voice  of  a  fat  old  woman,  one  so 
fat  that  she  is  described  in  the  book  as  having  had  a 
difficulty  in  looking  over  herself — a  voice,  as  we  read 
elsewhere  in  the  novel,  having  borne  upon  the  breeze 
about  it  a  peculiar  flagrance,  "as  if  a  passing  fairy 
had  hiccoughed,  and  had  previously  been  to  a  wine- 
vaults." 

" '  And  so  the  gentleman's  dead,  sir  !  Ah !  the 
more's  the  pity  ! ' — (She  didn't  even  know  his  name.) — 
*  But  it's  as  certain  as  being  born,  except  that  we  can't 
make  our  calculations  as  exact.  Ah,  dear  ! ' : 

Simply  to  hear  those  words  uttered  by  the  Reader — 
especially  the  interjected  words  above  italicised — was 
to  have  a  relish  of  anticipation  at  once  for  all  that 
followed.  Mrs.  Gamp's  pathetic  allusion,  imme 
diately  afterwards,  to  her  recollection  of  the  time 
"  when  Gamp  was  summonsed  to  his  long  home,"  and 
when  she  "  see  him  a-laying  in  the  hospital  with  a 
penny-piece  on  each  eye,  and  his  wooden  leg  under  his 
left  arm,"  not  only  confirmed  the  delighted  impression 
of  the  hearers  as  to  their  having  her  there  before  them 


MRS.    GAMP.  213 

in  her  identity,  but  was  the  signal  for  the  roars  of 
laughter  that,  rising  and  falling  in  volume  all  through 
the  Beading,  terminated  only  some  time  after  its 
completion. 

Immediately  after  came  the  first  introduction  by  her 
of  the  name  of  Mrs.  Harris.  "  At  this  point,"  observed 
the  narrator,  "  she  was  fain  to  stop  for  breath.  And," 
he  went  on  directly  to  remark,  with  a  combination  of 
candour  and  seriousness  that  were  in  themselves  irre 
sistibly  ludicrous,  "  advantage  may  be  taken  of  the 
circumstance  to  state  that  a  fearful  mystery  surrounded 
this  lady  of  the  name  of  Harris,  whom  no  one  in  the 
circle  of  Mrs.  Gamp's  acquaintance  had  ever  seen  ; 
neither  did  any  human  being  know  her  place  of  resi 
dence — the  prevalent  opinion  being  that  she  was  a 
phantom  of  Mrs.  Gamp's  brain,  created  for  the  purpose 
of  holding  complimentary  dialogues  with  her  on  all 
manner  of  subjects."  Eminently  seasonable,  as  a  pre 
liminary  nourish  in  this  way,  is  the  tribute  paid  by  her  to 
Mrs.  Gamp's  abstemiousness,  on  the  understanding  that 
is,  that  the  latter's  one  golden  rule  of  life,  is  complied 
with — "  '  Leave  the  bottle  on  the  chimbley -piece,  and 
don't  ast  me  to  take  none,  but  let  me  put  my  lips  to  it 
when  I  am  so  dispoged,  and  then,  Mrs.  Harris,  I  says, 
I  will  do  what  I  am  engaged  to,  according  to  the  best 
of  my  ability.'  *  Mrs.  Gamp,'  she  says,  in  answer,  '  if 
ever  there  was  a  sober  creetur  to  be  got  at  eighteen- 
pence  a  day  for  working  people,  and  three-and-six  for 
gentlefolks, — night -watching  being  a  extra  charge, — 


214  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS  A   READER. 

you  are  that  inwallable  person.  Never  did  I  think, 
till  I  know'd  you,  as  any  woman  could  sick-nurse  and 
monthly  likeways,  on  the  little  that  you  takes  to  drink.' 
*  Mrs.  Harris,  ma'am/  I  says  to  her,  '  none  on  us 
knows  what  we  can  do  till  we  tries ;  and  wunst  I 
thought  so  too.  But  now,'  I  says,  '  my  half  a  pint  of 
porter  fully  satisfies ;  perwisin',  Mrs.  Harris,  that  it's 
brought  reg'lar,  arid  draw'd  mild.' "  Not  but  occa 
sionally  even  that  modest  "  sip  of  liquor  "  she  finds  so 
far  "  settling  heavy  on  the  chest "  as  to  necessitate, 
every  now  and  then,  a  casual  dram  by  way  of  extra 
quencher. 

It  was  so  arranged  in  the  Reading  that,  immediately 
upon  the  completion  of  Mrs.  Gamp's  affecting  narra 
tive  of  the  confidential  opinions  of  her  sobriety  enter 
tained  by  Mrs.  Harris,  Mr.  Mould,  the  undertaker, 
opportunely  presented  to  the  audience  his  well-remem 
bered  countenance — "  a  face  in  which  a  queer  attempt 
at  melancholy  was  at  odds  with  a  smirk  of  satisfaction." 
The  impersonation,  here,  was  conveyed  in  something 
better  than  the  unsatisfactory  hint  by  which  that 
attempted  in  regard  to  Mr.  Pecksniff  was  alone  to  be 
expressed.  Speaking  of  Old  Chuzzlewit's  funeral,  as 
ordered  by  his  bereaved  son,  Mr.  Jonas,  with  "  no 
limitation,  positively  no  limitation  in  point  of  expense," 
the  undertaker  observes  to  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  This  is 
one  of  the  most  impressive  cases,  sir,  that  I  have  seen 
in  the  whole  course  of  my  professional  experience. 
Anything  so  filial  as  this — anything  so  honourable  to 


MRS.    GAMP.  215 

human  nature,  anything  so  expensive,  anything  so 
calculated  to  reconcile  all  of  us  to  the  world  we  live 
in — never  yet  came  under  my  observation.  It  only 
proves,  sir,  what  was  so  forcibly  expressed  by  the 
lamented  poet, — buried  at  Stratford, — that  there  is 
good  in  eve^thing."  Even  the  very  manner  of  his 
departure  was  delicious  :  "  Mr.  Mould  was  going  away 
with  a  brisk  smile,  when  he  remembered  the  occasion," 
we  read  in  the  narrative  and  saw  on  the  platform. 
"  Quickly  becoming  depressed  again,  he  sighed;  looked 
into  the  crown  of  his  hat,  as  if  for  comfort ;  put  it  on 
without  finding  any  ;  and  slowly  departed." 

The  spirit  and  substance  of  the  whole  Heading,  how 
ever,  were,  as  a  matter  of  course,  Mrs.  Gamp  and  her 
grotesque  remembrances,  drawn,  these  latter  from 
the  inexhaustible  fund  of  her  own  personal  and 
mostly  domestic  experiences.  "  Although  the  blessing 
of  a  daughter,"  she  observed,  in  one  of  her  confiding 
retrospects,  "  was  deniged  me,  which,  if  we  had  had 
one,  Gamp  would  certainly  have  drunk  its  little  shoes 
right  off  its  feet,  as  with  one  precious  boy  he  did,  and 
arterwards  sent  the  child  a  errand  to  sell  his  wooden 
leg  for  any  liquor  it  would  fetch  as  matches  in  the 
rough ;  which  was  truly  done  beyond  his  years,  for 
ev'ry  individgle  penny  that  child  lost  at  tossing  for 
kidney  pies,  and  come  home  arterwards  quite  bold,  to 
break  the  news,  and  offering  to  drown' d  himself  if  such 
would  be  a  satisfaction  to  his  parents."  At  another 
moment,  when  descanting  upon  all  her  children  col- 


216  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

lectively  in  one  of  her  faithfully  reported  addresses, 
to  her  familiar :  "  '  My  own  family,'  I  says,  '  has 
fallen  out  of  three-pair  hacks,  and  had  damp  door 
steps  settled  on  their  lungs,  and  one  was  turned  up 
smilin'  in  a  hedstead  unbeknown.  And  as  to  hus 
bands,  there's  a  wooden  leg  gone  likeways  home  to  its 
account,  which  in  its  constancy  of  walking  into  public  - 
'ouses,  and  never  coming  out  again  till  fetched  by 
force,  was  quite  as  weak  as  flesh,  if  not  weaker." 

Somehow,  when  those  who  were  assisting  at  this 
Beading,  as  the  phrase  is,  had  related  to  them  the 
manner  in  which  Mrs.  Gamp  entered  on  her  official 
duties  in  the  sick  chamber,  they  appeared  to  be 
assisting  also  at  her  toilette :  as,  for  example,  when 
"  she  put  on  a  yellow  nightcap  of  prodigious  size,  in 
shape  resembling  a  cabbage,  having  previously  di 
vested  herself  of  a  row  of  bald  old  curls,  which  could 
scarcely  be  called  false  they  were  so  innocent  of  any 
thing  approaching  to  deception."  One  missed  sadly 
at  this  point  in  the  later  version  of  this  Beading  what 
was  included  in  her  first  conversation  on  the  door 
mat  as  to  her  requirements  for  supper  enumerated 
after  this  fashion,  "  in  tones  expressive  of  faintness," 
to  the  housemaid  :  "I  think,  young  woman,  as  I  could 
peck  a  little  bit  of  pickled  salmon,  with  a  little  sprig 
of  fennel  and  a  sprinkling  o'  white  pepper.  I  takes- 
new  bread,  my  dear,  with  jest  a  little  pat  o'  fredge 
butter  and  a  mossel  o'  cheese.  With  respect  to  ale,  if 
they  draws  the  Brighton  Tipper  at  any  'ouse  nigh  here,. 


MRS.    GAMP.  217 

I  takes  that  ale  at  night,  my  love ;  not  as  I  cares  for 
it  myself,  but  on  accounts  of  its  being  considered 
wakeful  by  the  doctors ;  and  whatever  you  do,  young 
woman,  don't  bring  me  more  than  a  shilling's  worth  of 
gin-and-water,  warm,  when  I  rings  the  bell  a  second 
time;  for  that  is  always  my  allowange,  and  I  never 
takes  a  drop  beyond.  In  case  there  should  be  sich  a 
thing  as  a  cowcumber  in  the  'ouse,  I'm  rather  partial 
to  'em,  though  I  am  but  a  poor  woman."  Winding  all 
up, — with  one  of  those  amazing  confusions  of  a  Scrip 
tural  recollection  which  prompts  her  at  another  time 
in  the  novel  to  exclaim,  in  regard  to  the  Ankworks 
package,  " '  I  wish  it  was  in  Jonadge's  belly,  I  do/ 
appearing  to  confound  the  prophet  with  the  whale  in 
that  mysterious  aspiration," — by  observing  at  thi& 
point,  "  Eich  folks  may  ride  on  camels,  but  it  ain't  so 
easy  for  'em  to  see  out  of  a  needle's  eye.  That  is- 
my  comfort,  and  I  hope  I  knows  it."  One  whole 
chapter  of  "  Martin  Chuzzlewit,"  with  the  exception  of 
the  merest  fragment  of  it — the  chapter  pre-eminently 
in  relation  to  Mrs.  Gamp — we  always  regretted  as- 
having  been  either  overlooked  or  purposely  set  aside 
in  the  compilation  both  of  the  earlier  and  the  later 
version  of  this  Reading,  the  chapter,  that  is,  in  which 
Mrs.  Gamp  and  Mrs.  Prig  converse  together  in  the 
former's  sleeping  apartment. 

The  mere  description  of  the  interior  of  that  chamber, 
related  by  the  Author's  lips,  would  have  been  so  irre 
sistibly  ridiculous — the  tent  bedstead  ornamented  with 


218     CHARLES  DICKENS  AS  A  READER. 

pippins  carved  in  timber,  that  tumbled  down  on  the 
slightest  provocation  like  a  wooden  shower-bath — the 
chest  of  drawers,  from  which  the  handles  had  long 
been  pulled  off,  so  that  its  contents  could  only  be  got 
at  either  by  tilting  the  whole  structure  until  all  the 
drawers  fell  out  together,  or  by  opening  each  of  them 
singly  with  knives  like  oysters — the  miscellaneous 
salad  bought  for  twopence  by  Betsey  Prig  on  condition 
that  the  vendor  could  get  it  all  into  her  pocket  (includ 
ing  among  other  items  a  green  vegetable  of  an  expan 
sive  nature,  of  such  magnificent  proportions  that  before 
it  could  be  got  either  in  or  out  it  had  to  be  shut  up 
like  an  umbrella),  which  was  happily  accomplished  in 
High  Holborn,  to  the  breathless  interest  of  a  hackney- 
coach  stand. 

One  inestimable  portion,  however,  of  this  memo 
rable  occasion  of  festivity  between  .those  frequend 
pardners,  Betsey  Prig  and  Sairey  Gamp,  was,  by  a 
most  ingenious  dovetailing  together  of  two  disjointed 
parts,  incorporated  with  the  adroitly  compacted  mate 
rials  of  a  Heading  that  was  as  brief  as  the  laughter 
provoked  by  it  was  boisterous  and  inextinguishable. 
As  to  the  manner  of  the  dovetailing,  it  will  be  readily 
recalled  to  recollection.  Immediately  upon  Mrs. 
Gamp's  awaking  at  the  close  of  her  night  watch,  we 
were  told  that  Mrs.  Prig  relieved  punctually,  but  that 
she  relieved  in  an  ill  temper.  "  The  best  among  us 
have  their  failings,  and  it  must  be  conceded  of  Mrs. 
Prig,"  observed  the  Header  with  a  hardly  endurable 


MRS.    GAMP.  219 

gravity  of  explanation,  "  that  if  there  were  a  blemish 
in  the  goodness  of  her  disposition,  it  was  a  habit  she 
had  of  not  bestowing  all  its  sharp  and  acid  properties 
upon  her  patients  (as  a  thoroughly  amiable  woman 
would  have  done),  but  of  keeping  a  considerable  re 
mainder  for  the  service  of  her  friends."  Looking 
offensively  at  Mrs.  Gamp,  and  winking  her  eye,  as 
Mrs.  Prig  does  immediately  upon  her  entrance,  it  is 
felt  by  the  former  to  be  necessary  that  Betsey  should 
at  once  be  made  sensible  of  her  exact  station  in 
society;  wherefore  Mrs.  Gamp  prefaced  a  remon 
strance  with — 

"Mrs.  Harris,  Betsey " 

"  Bother  Mrs.  Harris  !  " 

Then  it  was  that  the  Reader  added : — 

"  Mrs.  Gamp  looked  at  Betsey  with  amazement, 
incredulity,  and  indignation.  Mrs.  Prig,  winking  her 
eye  tighter,  folded  her  arms  and  uttered  these  tremen 
dous  words : — 

"  '  I  don't  believe  there's  no  sich  a  person  ! ' 

"  With  these  expressions,  she  snapped  her  fingers, 
once,  twice,  thrice,  each  time  nearer  to  Mrs.  Gamp, 
and  then  turned  away  as  one  who  felt  that  there  was 
now  a  gulf  between  them  that  nothing  could  ever 
bridge  across." 

The  most  comic  of  all  the  Readings  closed  thus 
abruptly  with  a  roar. 


BOOTS  AT  THE  HOLLY  TEEE  INN. 


EVEN  the  immortal  Boots  at  the  White  Hart, 
Borough,  who  was  first  revealed  to  us  in  a  coarse 
striped  waistcoat  with  hlack  calico  sleeves  and  blue 
glass  buttons,  drab  breeches  and  gaiters,  and  who 
answered  to  the  name  of  Sam,  would  not,  we  are 
certain,  have  disdained  to  have  been  put  in  friendly 
relations  with  Cobbs,  as  one  in  every  way  worthy  of 
his  companionship.  The  Boots  at  the  Holly  Tree 
Inn,  though  more  lightly  sketched,  was  quite  as  much 
of  an  original  creation  in  his  way  as  that  other  Christ 
inas  friend  of  ours,  the  warm-hearted  and  loquacious 
Cheap  Jack,  Doctor  Marigold.  And  each  of  those 
worthies,  it  should  be  added,  had  really  about  him  an 
equal  claim  to  be  regarded,  as  an  original  creation, 
as  written,  or  as  impersonated  by  the  Author.  As  a 
character  orally  portrayed,  Cobbs  was  fully  on  a  par 
with  Doctor  Marigold.  Directly  the  Eeader  opened 
his  lips,  whether  as  the  Boots  or  as  the  Cheap  Jack, 
the  Novelist  seemed  to  disappear,  and  there  instead, 
talking  glibly  to  us  from  first  to  last  just  as  the  case 


BOOTS   AT   THE    HOLLY   TREE    INN.  221 

might  happen  to  be,  was  either  the  patterer  on  the 
cart  footboard  or  honest  Cobbs  touching  his  hair  with 
a  bootjack.  His  very  first  words  not  only  lead  up 
to  his  confidences,  but  in  the  same  breath  struck  the 
key-note  of  his  character.  "  Where  had  he  been  ? 
Lord,  everywhere  !  What  had  he  been  ?  Bless  you, 
everything  a'most.  Seen  a  good  deal  ?  Why,  of 
course  he  had.  Would  be  easier  for  him  to  tell  what 
he  hadn't  seen  than  what  he  had.  Ah  !  A  deal,  it 
would.  What  was  the  curiosest  thing  he'd  seen  ? 
Well !  He  didn't  know — couldn't  name  it  momently — 
unless  it  was  a  Unicorn,  and  he  see  him  over  at  a  Fair. 
But" — and  here  came  the  golden  retrospect,  a  fairy 
tale  of  love  told  by  a  tavern  Boots,  and  told  all 
through,  moreover,  as  none  but  a  Boots  could  tell  it — 
"  Supposing  a  young  gentleman  not  eight  year  old, 
was  to  run  away  with  a  fine  young  woman  of  seven, 
might  I  think  that  a  queer  start  ?  Certainly  !  Then, 
that  was  a  start  as  he  himself  had  had  his  blessed  eyes 
on — and  he'd  cleaned  the  shoes  they  run  away  in — 
and  they  was  so  little  he  couldn't  get  his  hand  into 
'era."  Whereupon,  following  up  the  thread  of  his 
discourse,  Boots  would  take  his  crowd  of  hearers, 
quite  willingly  on  their  part,  into  the  heart  of  the 
charming  labyrinth. 

The  descriptive  powers  of  Cobbs,  it  will  be  ad 
mitted,  were  for  one  thing  very  remarkable.  Master 
Harry  Walmers'  father,  for  instance,  he  hits  off  to  a 
nicety  in  a  phrase  or  two.  "  He  was  a  gentleman  of 


222  CHARLES  DICKENS   AS  A   READER. 

spirit,  and  good  looking,  and  held  his  head  up  when 
he  walked,  and  had  what  you  may  call  Fire  about 
him:"  adding,  that  he  wrote  poetry,  rode,  ran, 
cricketed,  danced  and  acted,  and  "  done  it  all  equally 
beautiful."  Another  and  a  very  significant  touch,  by 
the  way,  was  imparted  to  that  same  portraiture  later 
on,  just,  in  point  of  fact  before  the  close  of  Cobbs's 
reminiscence,  and  one  so  lightly  given  that  it  was  con 
veyed  through  a  mere  passing  parenthesis — namely, 
where  the  young  father  was  described  by  Boots  as 
standing  beside  Master  Harry  Walmers'  bed,  in  the 
Holly  Tree  Inn,  looking  down  at  the  little  sleeping 
face,  "looking  wonderfully  like  it,"  says  Cobbs,  who 
adds,  "  (they  do  say  as  he  ran  away  with  Mrs. 
Walmers)."  Although  Boots  described  Master  Harry's 
father  from  the  first  as  "  uncommon  proud  of  him,  as 
his  only  child,  you  see,"  the  worthy  fellow  took 
especial  care  at  once  to  add,  that  "  he  didn't  spoil  him 
neither."  Having  a  will  of  his  own,  and  a  eye  of  his 
own,  and  being  one  that  would  be  minded,  while  he 
never  tired  of  hearing  the  fine  bright  boy  "  sing  his 
songs  about  Young  May  Moons  is  beaming,  love,  and 
When  he  who  adores  thee  has  left  but  the  name,  and 
that:  still,"  said  Boots,  "he  kept  the  command  over 
the  child,  and  the  child  ivas  a  child,  and  it's  very 
much  to  be  wished  more  of  'em  was."  At  the  par 
ticular  period  referred  to  in  this  portion  of  his 
narrative,  Boots  informed  us  pleasantly,  that  he  came 
to  know  all  about  it  by  reason  of  his  being  in  his 


BOOTS   AT   THE    HOLLY   TREE    INN.  223 

then  capacity  as  Mr.  Walmers'  under-gardener,  always 
about  in  the  summer  time,  near  the  windows,  on  the  lawn 
"  a-mowing  and  sweeping,  and  weeding  and  pruning, 
and  this  and  that " — with  his  eyes  and  ears  open,  of 
course,  we  may  presume,  in  a  manner  befitting  his 
intelligence. 

Perhaps,  there  was  after  all  nothing  better  in  the 
delivery  of  the  whole  of  this  Beading,  than  the  utter 
ance  of  the  two  words  italicised  below  in  the  first 
dialogue,  reported  by  Boots  as  having  taken  place 
between  himself  and  Master  Harry  Walmers,  junior, 
when  "that  mite,"  as  Boots  calls  him,  stops  one  day, 
along  with  the  fine  young  woman  of  seven  already 
mentioned,  where  Boots  (then  under-gardener,  re 
member)  was  hoeing  weeds  in  the  gravel : — 

"'Cobbs,'  he  says,  'I  like  you.9  'Do  you,  sir? 
I'm  proud  to  hear  it.'  '  Yes,  I  do,  Cobbs.  Why  do 
I  like  you,  do  you  think,  Cobbs  ? '  '  Don't  know, 
Master  Harry,  I'm  sure.'  '  Because  Norah  likes  you, 
Cobbs.'  'Indeed,  sir?  That's  very  gratifying.' 
'  Gratifying,  Cobbs  ?  It  is  better  than  millions  of  the 
brightest  diamonds,  to  be  liked  by  Norah  ? '  '  Cer 
tainly,  sir.1 " 

Confirmed  naturally  enough  in  his  good  opinion  of 
Cobbs  by  this  thorough  community  of  sentiment, 
Master  Harry,  who  has  been  given  to  understand  from 
the  latter  that  he  is  going  to  leave,  and,  further  than 
that,  on  inquiring,  that  he  wouldn't  object  to  another 
situation  "if  it  was  a  good  'un,"  observes,  while  tuck- 


CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   EEADER. 

ing  that  other  mite  in  her  little  sky-blue  mantle  under 
his  arm,  "  Then,  Cobbs,  you  shall  be  our  head 
gardener  when  we  are  married."  Boots,  thereupon, 
in  the  person  of  the  Reader,  went  on  to  describe  how 
"  the  babies  with  their  long  bright  curling  hair,  their 
sparkling  eyes,  and  their  beautiful  light  tread,  rambled 
about  the  garden  deep  in  love,"  sometimes  here,  some 
times  there,  always  under  his  own  sympathetic  and 
admiring  observation,  until  one  day,  down  by  the 
pond,  he  heard  Master  Harry  say,  "Adorable  Norah, 
kiss  me  and  say  you  love  me  to  distraction."  Altogether 
Cobbs  seemed  exactly,  and  with  delicious  humour,  to 
define  the  entire  situation  when  he  declared,  that  "  on 
the  whole  the  contemplation  of  them  two  babies  had  a 
tendency  to  make  him  feel  as  if  he  was  in  love  him 
self — only  he  didn't  know  who  with !  " 

The  delightful  gravity  of  countenance  (with  a  covert 
sparkle  in  the  eye  where  the  daintiest  indications  of  fun 
were  given  by  the  Reader)  lent  a  charm  of  its  own  to 
the  merest  nothing,  comparatively,  in  the  whimsical 
dialogues  he  was  reporting.  Master  Harry,  for  example, 
having  confided  to  Cobbs  one  evening,  when  the  latter 
was  watering  the  flowers,  that  he  was  going  on  a  visit 
to  his  grandmama  at  York — "  '  Are  you  indeed,  sir?  I 
hope  you'll  have  a  pleasant  time.  I'm  going  into 
Yorkshire  myself,  when  I  leave  here.'  'Are  you  going 
to  your  grandmama's,  Cobbs  ?  '  '  No,  sir.  I  haven't 
got  such  a  thing.'  '  Not  as  a  grandmama,  Cobbs  ?  ' 
'  No,  sir.' "  Immediately  after  which,  on  the  boy 


BOOTS   AT   THE    HOLLY   TREE    INN.  225 

observing  to  his  humble  confidant,  that  he  shall  be  so 
glad  to  go  because  "Norah's  going,"  Cobbs,  naturally 
enough,  as  it  seemed,  took  occasion  to  remark,  "  You'll 
be  all  right  then,  sir,  with  your  beautiful  sweetheart  by 
your  side."  Whereupon  we  realised  more  clearly  than 
ever  the  delicate  whimsicality  of  the  whole  delineation, 
when  we  saw,  as  well  as  heard,  the  boy  return  a-flushing, 
"  Cobbs,  I  never  let  anybody  joke  about  that  when  I 
can  prevent  them,"  Cobbs  immediately  explaining  in  all 
humility,  "  It  wasn't  a  joke,  sir — wasn't  so  meant." 
No  wonder,  Boots  had  exclaimed  previously  :  "  And 
the  courage  of  that  boy !  Bless  you,  he'd  have 
throwed  off  his  little  hat  and  tucked  up  his  little 
sleeves  and  gone  in  at  a  lion,  he  would — if  they'd 
happened  to  meet  one,  and  she  [Norah]  had  been 
frightened."  At  the  close  of  Boots's  record  of  this 
last- quo  ted  conversation  with  Master  Harry,  came  one 
of  the  drollest  touches  in  the  Eeading — "  '  Cobbs,' 
says  that  boy,  '  I'll  tell  you  a  secret.  At  Norah's 
house,  they  have  been  joking  her  about  me,  and  [with 
a  wondering  look]  pretending  to  laugh  at  our  being 
engaged  !  Pretending  to  make  game  of  it,  Cobbs  ! ' 
*  Such,  sir,'  I  says,  *  is  the  depravity  of  human 
natur.' '  A  glance  during  the  utterance  of  which 
words,  either  at  the  Reader  himself  or  at  his  audience, 
was  something  enjoyable. 

Hardly  less  inspiriting  in  its  way  was  the  incidental 
mention,  directly  after  this  by  Cobbs,  of  the  manner 
in  which  he  gave  Mr.  Walmers  notice,  not  that  he'd 

Q 


226  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

anything  to  complain  of — "  '  Thanking  you,  sir,  I  find 
myself  as  well  sitiwated  here  as  I  could  hope  to  be 
anywheres.  The  truth  is,  sir,  that  I'm  a  going  to 
seek  my  fortun.'  '  O,  indeed,  Cobbs  ? '  he  says,  '  I  hope 
you  may  find  it,' >:  Boots  hereupon  giving  his  audience 
the  assurance,  with  the  characteristic  touch  of  the  boot 
jack  to  his  forehead,  that  "  he  hadn't  found  it  yet  I  " 

Then   came   the  delectable   account  of   the  elope 
ment — full,  true,  and  particular — from  the  veracious- 
lips  of  Cobbs  himself,  at  that  time,  and  again  some 
years  afterwards,  when  he  came  to  call  up  his  recollec 
tions,  Boots  at  the  Holly   Tree  Inn.     Passages  here 
and  there  in  his  description  of  the  incident  were  irri- 
sistiblty  laughable.     Master  Harry's  going  down  to  the 
old  lady's  in  York,  for  example,  "  which  old  lady  were 
so  wrapt  up  in  that  child  as  she  would  have  give  that 
child  the  teeth  in  her  head   (if  she  had  had  any)." 
The  arrival  of  "  them  two    children,"   again   at   the 
Holly  Tree  Inn,  he,  as  bold  as  brass,  tucking  her  in 
her  little  sky-blue  mantle   under  his    arm,  with  the 
memorable  dinner  order,  "  Chops  and  cherry  pudding 
for  two  !  "     Their  luggage,  even,   when  gravely  enu 
merated — the  lady  having  "  a  parasol,  a  smelling  bottle, 
a   round   and   a   half  of   cold   buttered    toast,    eight 
peppermint  drops,  and  a  doll's  hair-brush ;  "  the  gen 
tleman  having  "  about  half  a  dozen  yards  of  string,  a 
knife,  three  or  four  sheets  of  writing  paper  folded  up 
surprisingly  small,  a  orange,  and  a  chaney  mug  with 
his  name  on  it."     Several  of  the  little  chance  phrases, 


BOOTS   AT   THE    HOLLY   TREE    INN.  227 

the  merest  atoms  of  exclamation  here  and  there,  will 
still  be  borne  in  mind  as  having  had  an  intense  flavour 
of  fun  about  them,  as  syllabled  in  the  Reading. 
Boots's  "  Sir,  to  you,"  when  his  governor,  the  hotel- 
keeper,  proposes  to  run  over  to  York  to  quiet  their 
friends'  minds,  while  Cobbs  keeps  his  eye  upon  the 
innocents  !  Master  Harry's  replying  to  Boots'  sugges 
tion,  that  they  should  wile  away  the  time  by  a  walk 
down  Love-lane — "  '  Get  out  with  you,  Cobbs  !  ' — that 
was  that  there  boy's  expression."  The  glee  of  the  chil 
dren  was  prettily  told  too  on  their  finding  "  Good  Cobbs ! 
Dear  Cobbs!"  among  the  strangers  around  them  at 
their  temporary  halting-place.  They  themselves  appear 
ing  smaller  than  ever  in  his  eyes,  by  reason  of  his 
finding  them  "with  their  little  legs  entirely  off  the 
ground,  of  course — and  it  really  is  not  possible  to 
express  how  small  them  children  looked ! — on  a 
e-normous  sofa ;  "  immense  at  any  time,  but  looking 
like  a  Great  Bed  of  Ware  then  by  comparison. 

How,  during  the  governor's  absence  in  search  of 
their  friends,  Cobbs,  feeling  himself  all  the  while  to  be 
"  the  meanest  rascal  for  deceiving  'em,  that  ever  was 
born,"  gets  up  a  cock  and  a  bull  story  about  a  pony 
he's  acquainted  with,  who'll  take  them  on  nicely  to 
Gretna  Green — but  who  was  not  at  liberty  the  first 
day,  and  the  next  was  only  "  half  clipped,  you  see,  and 
couldn't  be  took  out  in  that  state  for  fear  it  should 
strike  to  his  inside  " — was  related  with  the  zest  of  one 
who  had  naturally  the  keenest  relish  possible  for  every 

Q  2 


228  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

humorous  particular.  Finding  the  lady  in  tears 
one  time  when  Boots  goes  to  see  how  the  runaway 
couple  are  getting  on,  "  Mrs.  Harry  Walmers,  junior, 
fatigued,  sir  ?  "  asks  Cobbs.  "  Yes,  she  is  tired,  Cobbs  ; 
but  she  is  not  used  to  be  away  from  home,  and  she  has 
been  in  low  spirits  again.  Cobbs,  do  you  think  you 
could  bring  a  biffin,  please?" — "I  ask  your  pardon, 
sir,  What  was  it  you  -  -?"  "I  think  a  Norfolk 
biffin  would  rouse  her,  Cobbs."  Kestoratives  of  that 
kind,  Boots  would  seem  to  have  regarded  as  too  essen 
tial  to  Mrs.  Harry  Walmers  junior's  happiness.  Hence, 
when  he  comes  upon  the  pair  over  their  dinner  of 
"  biled  fowl  and  bread-and-butter  pudding,"  Boots 
privately  owns  that  "  he  could  have  wished  to  have 
seen  her  more  sensible  to  the  woice  of  love,  and  less 
abandoning  of  herself  to  the  currants  in  the  pudding." 
According  to  Cobbs's  own  account  of  the  gentleman, 
however,  it  should  be  added  that  lie  too  could  play  his 
part  very  effectively  at  table,  for — having  mentioned 
another  while,  how  the  two  of  them  had  ordered  over 
night  sweet  milk-and-water  and  toast  and  currant 
jelly  for  breakfast — when  Cobbs  comes  upon  them  the 
next  morning  at  their  meal,  he  describes  Master 
Harry  as  sitting  behind  his  breakfast  cup  "  a  tearing 
away  at  the  jelly  as  if  he  had  been  his  own  father  !  " 

Remorseful  in  the  thought  of  betraying  them,  Boots 
at  one  moment  declared,  that  rather  than  combine  any 
longer  against  them,  he  would  by  preference  have  had  it 
out  in  half-a-dozen  rounds  with  the  governor  !  "  And 


BOOTS  AT  THE   HOLLY   TREE   INN.  229 

at  another  time,  when  the  said  governor  had  returned 
from  York,  "with  Mr.  Walmers  and  a  elderly  lady," 
Boots,  while  conducting  Mr.  Walmers  upstairs,  could 
not  for  the  life  of  him  help  pausing  at  the  room  door, 
with,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  I  hope  you  are  not 
angry  with  Master  Harry.  For  Master  Harry's  a 
fine  boy,  sir,  and  will  do  you  credit  and  honour." 
Boots  signifying  while  he  related  the  circumstance, 
that  "if  the  fine  boy's  father  had  contradicted  him  in 
the  state  of  mind  in  which  he  then  was,  he  should 
have  '  fetched  him  a  crack'  and  took  the  consequences." 
As  for  the  appreciation  of  Master  Harry  by  the  female 
dependents  at  the  Holly  Tree,  there  were  two  allusions 
to  that — one  general,  as  may  be  said,  the  other  par 
ticular — that  were  always  the  most  telling  hits,  the 
two  chief  successes  of  the  Reading.  Who  that  once 
heard  it,  for  example,  has  forgotten  the  Author's  in 
imitable  manner  of  saying,  as  the  Boots — "  The  way 
in  which  the  women  of  that  house — without  exception — 
every  one  of  'em — married  and  single — took  to  that 
boy  when  they  heard  the  story,  is  surprising.  It  was 
as  much  as  could  be  done  to  keep  'em  from  dashing 
into  the  room  and  kissing  him.  They  climbed  up  all 
sorts  of  places,  at  the  risk  of  their  lives,  to  look  at 
him  through  a  pane  of  glass.  They  was  seven  deep 
at  the  key -hole  !  "  The  climax  of  fun  came  naturally 
at  the  close,  however,  when,  having  described  how 
Mr.  Walmers  lifted  his  boy  up  to  kiss  the  sleeping 
"  little  warm  face  of  little  Mrs.  Harry  Walmers, 


230  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

junior,"  at  the  moment  of  their  separation,  Boots, 
that  is  the  Reader,  cried  out  in  the  shrill  voice  of  one 
of  the  chambermaids,  "It's  a  shame  to  part  'em  !  " 

Two  reflections  indulged  in  by  Boots  during  the 
course  of  his  narrative,  being  among  the  pleasantest 
in  connection  with  this  most  graceful  of  all  the  purely 
comic  Headings,  may  here,  while  closing  these  allusions 
to  it,  be  recalled  to  mind  not  inappropriately.  One 
— where  Cobbs  "wished  with  all  his  heart  there  was 
any  impossible  place  where  them  two  babies  could 
have  made  an  impossible  marriage,  and  have  lived 
impossibly  happy  ever  afterwards."  The  other — 
where,  with  genial  sarcasm,  Boots  propounds  this 
brace  of  opinions  by  way  of  general  summing  up — 
' 'Firstly,  that  there  are  not  many  couples  on  their  way 
to  be  married  who  are  half  as  innocent  as  them  two 
children.  Secondly,  that  it  would  be  a  jolly  good  thing 
for  a  great  many  couples  on  their  way  to  be  married, 
if  they  could  only  be  stopped  in  time,  and  brought 
back  separate."  With  which  cynical  scattering  of 
sugar-plums  in  the  teeth  of  married  and  single,  the 
blithe  Reading  was  laughingly  brought  to  its  conclusion. 


BAEBOX  BKOTHEES. 


NOBODY  but  the  writer  of  this  little  freak  of  fancy 
could  possibly  have  rendered  the  Beading  of  it  in  public 
worthy  even  of  toleration.  Perhaps  no  Beading  that 
could  be  selected  presents  within  the  same  compass  so 
many  difficulties  to  the  audience  who  are  listening,  and 
to  the  Beader  who  is  hardy  enough  to  adventure  upon 
its  delivery.  The  closing  incidents  of  the  narrative  are 
in  themselves  so  improbable,  we  had  all  but  said  so 
impossible  !  Polly,  at  once  so  quaint  and  -so  capti 
vating,  when  her  words  are  perused  upon  the  printed 
page,  is  so  incapable  of  having  her  baby-prattle  repeated 
by  anybody  else,  without  the  imminent  risk,  the  all 
but  certainty,  of  its  degenerating  into  mere  childishness. 
It  can  scarcely  be  wondered,  therefore,  that  "  Barbox 
Brothers,"  though  it  actually  was  Bead,  and  Bead 
successfully,  was  hardly  ever  repeated.  Everybody 
who  has  once  looked  into  the  story  will  bear  in  mind 
how,  quite  abruptly,  almost  haphazard,  it  comes  to  be 
narrated. 

The  lumbering,  middle-aged,  grey-headed  hero  of  it, 


232  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

in  obedience  to  the  whim  of  a  moment,  gets  out  of  a 
night  train  at  the  great  central  junction  of  the  whole 
railway  system  of  England.  A  drenching  rain-storm 
and  a  windy  platform,  darkness  and  solitude  are,  to 
begin  with,  the  agreeable  surroundings  of  this  eccentric 
traveller.  He  is  stranded  there,  not  high  and  dry, 
anything  but  that — on  the  contrary,  soaked  through 
and  through,  and  at  very  low  level  indeed — during  what 
the  local  officials  regard  as  their  deadest  time  in  all 
the  twTenty-four  hours  :  wrhat  one  of  them,  later  on, 
terms  emphatically  their  deadest  and  buriedest  time. 

Already,  even  here,  before  the  tale  itself  is  in  any 
wajT  begun,  the  Author  of  it,  in  his  capacity  as  Reader, 
somehow,  by  the  mere  manner  of  his  delivery  of  a 
descriptive  sentence  or  two,  contrived  to  realise  to  his 
hearers  in  a  wonderfully  vivid  way  the  strange  inci 
dents  of  the  traffic  in  a  scene  like  this,  at  those 
blackest  intervals  between  midnight  and  daybreak. 
Now  revealing — "Mysterious  goods  trains,  covered 
with  palls,  and  gliding  on  like  vast  weird  funerals, 
conveying  themselves  guiltily  away,  as  if  their  freight 
had  come  to  a  secret  and  unlawful  end."  Now,  again 
— "  Half  miles  of  coal  pursuing  in  a  Detective  manner, 
following  when  they  led,  stopping  when  they  stopped, 
backing  when  they  backed."  One  while  the  spectacle, 
conjured  up  by  a  word  or  two  was  that  of — "  Un 
known  languages  in  the  air,  conspiring  in  red,  green, 
and  white  characters."  Another,  with  startling  effect, 
it  was — "An  earthquake,  with  thunder  and  lightning, 


BARBOX    BROTHERS.  233 

going  up  express  to  London."  Here  it  is  that  Barbox 
Brothers,  in  the  midst  of  these  ghostly  apparitions,  is 
eventually  extricated  from  the  melancholy  plight  in 
which  he  finds  himself  saturated  and  isolated  in  the 
middle  of  a  spiderous  web  of  railroads. 

His  extricator  is — Lamps  !  A  worthy  companion  por 
trait  to  that  of  cinderous  Mr.  Toodles,  the  stoker,  fami 
liar  to  the  readers  of  Dombey.  Characters,  those  two, 
quite  as  typical,  after  their  fashion,  of  the  later  railway 
period  of  Dickens,  as  even  Sam  Weller,  the  boots,  and 
Old  Weller,  the  coachman,  were  of  his  earlier  coaching 
period  in  the  days  of  Pickwick.  To  see  him,  in  his 
capacity  as  Lamps,  when  excited,  take  what  he  called 
"  a  rounder" — that  is  to  say,  giving  himself,  with  his 
oily  handkerchief  rolled  up  in  the  form  of  a  ball,  "  an 
elaborate  smear  from  behind  the  right  ear,  up  the 
cheek,  across  the  forehead,  and  down  the  other  cheek, 
behind  his  left  ear,"  after  which  operation  he  is  de 
scribed  as  having  shone  exceedingly — was  to  be  with 
him,  again,  at  once,  in  his  greasy  little  cabin,  which 
was  suggestive  to  the  sense  of  smell  of  a  cabin  in  a 
whaler.  How  it  came  to  pass  that  Lamps  sang  comic 
songs,  of  his  own  composition,  to  his  bed-ridden 
daughter  Phoebe,  by  way  of  enlivening  her  solitude, 
and  how  Phoebe,  while  manipulating  the  threads  on 
her  lace-pillow,  as  though  she  were  playing  a  musical 
instrument,  taught  her  little  band  of  children  to  chant 
to  a  pleasant  tune  the  multiplication-table,  and  so  fix 
it  and  other  useful  knowledge  indelibly  upon  the 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AS  A  READER. 

tablets  of  their  memory,  the  Author- Reader  would 
then  relate,  as  no  other  Reader,  however  gifted,  who 
was  not  also  the  Author,  would  have  been  allowed  to  do, 
supposing  this  latter  had  had  the  hardihood  to  attempt 
the  relation. 

As  the  Reading  advanced,  the  difficulties  not  only 
increased,  they  became  tenfold,  immediately  upon  the 
introduction  of  Polly.  Dickens,  however,  conquered 
them  all  somehow.  But  to  anybody  else,  setting  forth 
the  story  histrionically,  impersonating  the  characters 
as  they  appeared,  these  difficulties  would  by  necessity 
have  been  insuperable  or  simply  overwhelming. 
Catching  the  very  little  fair-haired  girl's  Christian 
name  readily  enough,  when  she  comes  up  to  him  in  the 
street,  with  the  surprising  announcement,  "  O  !  if  you 
please,  I  am  lost !  "  Barbox  Brothers  can't  for  the  life 
of  him  conjecture  what  her  surname  is, — carefully  imi 
tating,  though  he  does,  the  sound  that  comes  from  the 
childish  lips,  each  time  on  its  repetition.  Hazarding 
41  Trivits,"  first  of  all,  then  "  Paddens,"  then  "  Tappi- 
tarver."  Eventually,  when  the  two  arrive  hand-in-hand 
at  Barbox  Brothers'  hotel,  nobody  there  could  make 
out  her  name  as  she  set  it  forth,  "except  one  chamber 
maid,  who  said  it  was  Constantinople — which  it  wasn't." 

No  wonder  Barbox  feels  bigger  and  heavier  in 
person  every  minute  when  he  is  being  catechised  by 
Polly !  Asked  by  her  if  he  knows  any  stories,  and 
compelled  to. answer,  No  !  "  What  a  dunce  you  must 
be,  mustn't  you  ?  "  says  Polly.  Frightened  nearly  out 


BARBOX    BROTHERS.  235 

of  his  wits  at  the  dinner-table,  when  the}'  are  feasting 
together,  by  her  getting  on  her  feet  upon  her  chair  to 
reward  him  with  a  kiss,  and  then  toppling  forward 
among  the  dishes — he  himself  crying  out  in  dismay, 
"  Gracious  angels  !  Whew !  I  thought  we  were  in 
the  fire,  Polly  !  " — "  What  a  coward  you  are,  ain't 
you  ?  "  says  Polly,  when  replaced. 

Upon  the  next  morning,  when  brought  down  to 
breakfast,  after  a  comfortable  night's  sleep,  passed  by 
the  child  in  a  bed  shared  with  "the  Constantinopolitaii 
chambermaid,"  Polly,  "by  that  time  a  mere  heap  of 
dimples,"  poses  poor,  unwieldy  Barbox  by  asking  him, 
in  a  wheedling  manner,  "What  are  we  going  to  do,  you 
clear  old  thing  ?  "  On  his  suggesting  their  having  a 
sight,  at  the  Circus,  of  two  long-tailed  ponies,  speckled 
all  over — "  No,  no,  NO  !  "  cries  Polly,  in  an  ecstasy. 
When  he  afterwards  throws  out  a  proposition  that  they 
shall  also  look  in  at  the  toy-shop,  and  choose  a  doll — 
"Not  dressed,"  ejaculates  Polly;  "No,  no,  NO — not 
dressed  !  "  Barbox  replying,  "  Full  dressed  ;  together 
with  a  house,  and  all  things  necessary  for  housekeep 
ing  ! "  Polly  gives  a  little  scream,  and  seems  in 
danger  of  falling  into  a  swoon  of  bliss.  "What  a 
darling  you  are  !  "  she  languidly  exclaims,  leaning 
back  in  her  chair  :  "  Come  and  be  hugged."  All  this 
will  indicate  plainly  enough  the  difficulties  investing 
every  sentence  of  this  Beading,  capped  as  they  all  are 
by  the  astounding  denouement  of  the  plot — Polly 
turning  out  to  be  (sly  little  thing  !)  the  purposely-lost 


236  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   EEADER. 

daughter  of  Barbox  Brothers'  old  love,  Beatrice,  and 
of  her  husband,  Tresham,  for  whom  Barbox  had  not 
only  been  jilted,  but  by  whom  Barbox  had  been  simul 
taneously  and  rather  heavily  defrauded. 

Perhaps  the  pleasantest  recollection  of  the  whole 
Reading  is,  not  Polly  —  the  small  puss  turns  out 
to  be  such  a  cunningly  reticent  little  emissary  — 
but  her  Doll,  a  "  lovely  specimen  of  Circassian  de 
scent,  possessing  as  much  boldness  of  beauty  as  was 
reconcileable  with  extreme  feebleness  of  mouth,"  and 
combining  a  sky-blue  pelisse  with  rose-coloured  satin 
trousers,  and  a  black  velvet  hat,  "  the  latter  seemingly 
founded  on  the  portraits  of  the  late  Duchess  of  Kent." 
One  is  almost  reconciled  to  Polly,  however, — becoming 
oblivious  for  the  moment  of  her  connivance  in  her 
mother's  secret  device,  and  reminiscent  only  of  her  own 
unsophisticated  mixture  of  prattle  and  impertinence — on 
learning,  immediately  after  this  elaborate  description 
of  the  gorgeous  doll  of  her  choice,  that  "  the  name  of 
this  distinguished  foreigner  was  (on  Polly's  authority) 
Miss  Melluka." 


THE  BOY  AT  MUGBY. 


SEVERAL  gamins  have  been  contributed  to  our  litera 
ture  by  Dickens — quite  as  t}rpical  and  quite  as  truthful 
in  their  way,  each  of  them,  as  Hugo's  Gavroche.  There 
is  Jo  the  poor  crossing-sweeper.  There  is  the  im 
mortal  Dodger.  There  is  his  pal  the  facetious  Charley 
Bates.  And  there  is  that  delightful  boy  at  the  end  of 
"  The  Carol,"  who  conveys  such  a  world  of  wonder 
through  his  simple  reply  of  "  Why,  Christmas  Day  !  " 
The  boy  who  is  "as  big,"  he  says  himself,  as  the  prize 
turkey,  and  who  gets  off  at  last  quicker  than  a  shot 
propelled  by  the  steadiest  hand  at  a  trigger !  Scat 
tered  up  and  down  the  Boz  fictions,  there  are  abundant 
specimens  of  a  genus  that,  in  one  instance,  is  actually 
termed  by  the  Humorist,  "  a  town-made  little  boy" — 
this  is  in  the  memorable  street  scene  where  Squeers 
hooks  Smike  by  the  coat-collar  with  the  handle  of 
his  umbrella.  He  is  always  especially  great  in  his 
delineation  of  what  one  might  call  the  human  cock- 
sparrows  of  London.  Kit,  at  the  outset  of  his  career, 
is  another  example ;  and  Tom  Scott  yet  another. 


238  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

Sloppy  carries  us  away  into  the  suburbs,  thereby  taking 
us  in  a  manner  off  the  stones,  and  otherwise  represents 
in  his  own  proper  person,  buttons  and  all,  less  one  of 
the  dapper  urchins  we  are  now  more  particularly  re 
ferring  to,  than  the  shambling  hobbledehoy.  Even  in 
the  unfinished  story  with  which  the  Author's  volu 
minous  writings  were  closed,  there  was  portrayed  an 
entirely  novel  specimen,  one  marked  by  the  most 
grotesque  extravagance,  in  the  shape  of  that  impish 
malignant,  "  the  Deput}^"  whose  pastime  at  once  and 
whole  duty  in  life  seemed  to  be  making  a  sort  of 
vesper  cock-shy  of  Durdles  and  his  dinner-bundle. 

Conspicuous  among  these  comic  boys  of  Dickens 
may  be  remembered  one  who,  instead  of  being  intro 
duced  in  any  of  the  Novelist's  larger  wrorks,  from 
the  Pickwick  Papers  down  to  Edwin  Drood,  inter 
polates  himself,  as  may  be  said,  among  one  of  the 
groups  of  Christmas  stories,  through  the  medium  of 
a,  shrill  monologue.  "  The  Boy  at  Mugby,"  to  wit,  the 
one  exhilarated  and  exhilarating  appreciator  of  the 
whole  elaborate  system  of  Kefreshmenting  in  this  Isle 
of  the  Brave  and  Land  of  the  Free,  by  which  he  means, 
to  say  Britannia. 

Laconically,  "  I  am  the  Boy  at  Mugby,"  he  an 
nounces.  "  That's  about  what  I  am."  His  exact  loca 
tion  he  describes  almost  with  the  precision  of  one 
giving  latitude  and  longitude—  explaining  to  a  nicety 
where  his  stand  is  taken.  "  Up  in  a  corner  of  the 
Down  Refreshment  Room  at  Mugby  Junction,"  in  the 


THE    BOY   AT   MUG  BY.  2  3D 

height  of  twenty-seven  draughts  [he's  counted  'em, 
lie  tells  us  parenthetically,  as  they  brush  the  First 
Class,  hair  twenty-seven  waj^s],  bounded  on  the  nor'- 
west  by  the  beer,  and  so  on.  He  himself,  he  frankly 
informs  you — in  the  event  of  your  ever  presenting 
yourself  there  before  him  at  the  counter,  in  quest  of 
nourishment  of  any  kind,  either  liquid  or  solid — will  seem 
not  to  hear  you,  and  will  appear  "in  a  absent  manner 
to  survey  the  Line  through  a  transparent  medium 
composed  of  your  head  and  body,"  determined  evi 
dently  not  to  serve  you,  that  is,  as  long  as  you  can 
possibly  bear  it !  "  That's  me  !  "  cries  the  Boy  at 
Mugby,  exultantly, — adding,  with  an  intense  relish  for 
his  occupation,  "what  a  delightful  lark  it  is !  "  As 
for  the  eatables  and  drinkables  habitually  set  forth 
upon  the  counter,  by  what  he  generally  speaks  of  as 
the  Eefreshmenters,  quoth  the  Boy  at  Mugby,  in  a 
naif  confidence,  addressed  to  you  in  your  capacity  at 
once  as  applicant  and  victim,  "  when  you're  tele 
graphed,  you  should  see  'em  begin  to  pitch  the  stale 
pastry  into  the  plates,  and  chuck  the  sawdust  sang- 
wiches  under  the  glass  covers,  and  get  out  the — 
ha,  ha  ! — the  sherry — O,  my  eye,  my  eye  ! — for  your 
refreshment."  Once  or  twice  in  a  way  only,  "  The 
Boy  at  Mugby  "  was  introduced  among  the  Headings, 
and  then  merely  as  a  slight  stop -gap  or  interlude. 
Thoroughly  enjoying  the  delivery  of  it  himself,  and 
always  provoking  shouts  of  laughter  whenever  this 
colloquial  morsel  was  given,  the  Novelist  seemed  to 


240  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

be  perfectly  conscious  himself  that  it  was  altogether 
too  slight  and  trivial  of  its  kind,  to  be  worthy  of 
anything  like  artistic  consideration;  that  it  was  an 
"airy  nothing"  in  its  way,  to  which  it  was  scarcely 
deserving  that  he  should  give  more  than  name  and 
local  habitation. 

Critically  regarded,  it  had  its  inconsistencies  too, 
both  as  a  writing  and  as  a  Reading.     There  was  alto 
gether  too  much  precocity  for  a  genuine  boy,  in  the 
nice   discrimination   with  which  the   Boy  at   Mugby 
hit  off  the   contrasting  nationalities.      The  foreigner, 
for  example,  who  politely,  hat  in  hand,   "  beseeched 
Our  Young  Ladies,  and  our  Missis,"  for  a  "  leetel  gloss 
hoff  prarndee,"  and  who,  after  being  repelled,  on  trying 
to  help  himself,  exclaims,    "  with  hands  clasped  and 
shoulders   riz :    '  Ah !  is   it  possible   this ;  that  these 
disdaineous  females  are  placed  here  by  the  administra 
tion,  not  only  to  empoisen  the  voyagers,  but  to  affront 
them  !     Great  Heaven  !     How  arrives  it  ?     The  Eng 
lish  people.     Or   is  he  then  a  slave  ?    Or  idiot  ?  '  ! 
Hardly   would  a   veritable  boy,  even    an    urchin    so 
well  "  to  the  fore  "    with  his   epoch,   as  the  Boy  at 
Mugby,  depict  so  accurately,  much  less  take  off,  with 
a  manner  so  entirely  life-like,  the  astounded  foreigner, 
any  more  than  he  would  the  thoroughly  wide-awake 
and  gaily  derisive  American.  The  latter  he  describes  as 
alternately  trying  and  spitting  out  first  the  sawdust 
and  then  the — ha,  ha ! — the  sherry,  until  finally,  on 
paying  for  both  and  consuming  neither,  he  says,  veiy 


THE    BOY   AT    MUGBY.  241 

loud,  to  Our  Missis,  and  very  good  tempered,  "  I  tell 
Yew  what  'tis  ma'arm.  I  la'af.  Theer !  I  la'af,  I 
Dew.  I  oughter  ha'  seen  most  things,  for  I  hail  from 
the  Onlimited  side  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  and  I  haive 
travelled  right  slick  over  the  Limited,  head  on,  through 
Jeerusalem  and  the  East,  and  like  ways  France  and 
Italy,  Europe,  Old  World,  and  I  am  now  upon  the 
track  to  the  Chief  European  Village ;  but  such  an 
Institution  as  Yew  and  Yewer  fixins,  solid  and  liquid, 
afore  the  glorious  Tarnal  I  never  did  see  yet !  And 
if  I  hain't  found  the  eighth  wonder  of  Monarchical 
Creation,  in  finding  Yew  and  Yewer  fixins,  solid  and 
liquid,  in  a  country  where  the  people  air  not  absolute 
Loo-naticks,  I  am  Extra  Double  Darned  with  a  nip 
and  frizzle  to  the  innermost  grit !  Wheerfore — Theer  ! 
—I  la'af !  I  Dew,  ma'arm.  I  la'af !  "  A  calotype,  or  ra 
ther,  literally,  a  speaking  likeness,  so  true  to  the  life  as 
that,  would  be  a  trifle,  we  take  it,  beyond  the  mimetic 
powers  and  the  keenly  observant  faculties  even  of  a 
Boy  whose  senses  had  been  wakened  up  by  the  twenty- 
seven  cross  draughts  of  the  Eefreshment  Koom  at 
Mugby. 

As  to  the  fun  made  of  the  bandolining  by  Our  Young 
Ladies,  and  of  Our  Missis's  lecture  on  Foreign  Refresh- 
menting,  and  of  Sniff's  corkscrew  and  his  servile  dis 
position,  it  is  intentionally  fooling,  no  doubt,  but  it  is 
— excellent  fooling  !  As  was  admirably  said  in  the 
number  of  Macmillan  for  January,  1871,  by  the  anony 
mous  writer  of  a  Eeminiscence  of  the  Amateur  Thea- 


242  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS   A    EEADEE. 

tricals  at  Tavistock  House, — the  remark  following 
immediately  after  Charles  Dickens's  version  of  the 
Ghost's  Song  in  Henry  Fielding's  burlesque  of  Tom 
Thumb, — "  Nonsense,  it  may  be  said,  all  this ;  but 
the  nonsense  of  a  great  genius  has  always  something 
of  genius  in  it."  Had  not  Swift  his  "  little  language" 
to  Stella,  to  "  Stellakins,"  to  "  roguish,  impudent, 
pretty  M.  D.  ?  "  Than  some  of  which  little  language, 
quoth  Thackeray,  in  commenting  upon  it,  "I  know 
of  nothing  more  manly,  more  tender,  more  exquisitely 
touching."  Again,  had  not  Pope,  in  conjunction 
with  the  Dean,  his  occasional  unbending  also  as 
a  farceur,  in  the  wilder  freaks  and  oddities  of 
Martinus  Scriblerus  ?  So  was  it  here  with  one  who 
was  beyond  all  doubt,  more  intensely  a  Humorist  than 
either,  when  he  wrote  or  read  such  harmless  sarcasms 
and  innocent  whimsicalities,  as  those  alternately  un 
derlying,  and  overlaying  the  boyish  fun  of  this  juvenile 
Refreshmenter  at  Mugby  Junction. 


DOCTOR  MARIGOLD. 


ALREADY  mention  has  been  made  of  the  extraordi 
nary  care  lavished,  as  a  general  rule,  by  the  Novelist 
upon  the  preparation  of  these  Readings  before  they 
were,  each  in  turn,  submitted  for  the  first  time  to 
public  scrutiny.  A  strikingly  illustrative  instance  of 
this  may  be  here  particularised.  It  occurred  upon  the 
occasion  of  a  purely  experimental  Reading  of  "  Doctor 
Marigold,"  which  came  off  privately,  on  the  evening  of 
the  18th  of  March,  1866,  in  the  drawing-room  of 
Charles  Dickens's  then  town  residence,  in  Southwick 
Place,  Tyburnia.  Including,  among  those  present,  the 
members  of  his  own  home  circle,  his  entire  audience 
numbered  no  more  than  ten  persons  altogether. 
Four,  at  any  rate,  of  that  party  may  be  here  iden 
tified,  each  of  whom  doubtless  still  bears  the  occasion 
referred  to  vividly  in  his  remembrance,  —  Robert 
Browning  the  poet,  Charles  Fechter  the  actor,  Wilkie 
ColHns  the  novelist,  and  John  Forster  the  historian  of 
the  Commonwealth.  Even  in  private,  Dickens  had  never 
Read  "  Doctor  Mangold"  until  that  evening.  Often  as 

K  2 


244  CHAELES    DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

he  Eead  it  afterwards,  he  never  Eead  it  with  a  more 
contagious  air  of    exhilaration.     He  hardly  ever,   in 
fact,  gave  one   of  his  almost  wholly  comic  and  but 
incidentally  pathetic  Readings  so  effectively.    In  every 
sentence   there   was  a  zest   or  relish  that  was  irre 
sistible.      The   volubility  of  the  "  poor  chap  in  the 
sleeved-waistcoat "  sped  the  Reading  on  with  a  rapidity 
quite  beyond  anticipation,  when  the  time,  which  had 
been  carefully  marked  at  the  commencement  of  the 
Reading,  came  to  be  notified  at  its  conclusion.     That 
the  merest  first   rehearsal  should   have  run  off  thus 
glibly   seemed  just   simply  incomprehensible.     With 
the  sense  of  this   surprise    still  fresh    upon  us,  the 
tentative  Reading  being  at  the  time  only  a  few  seconds 
completed,    everything  was   explained,  however,  by  a 
half-whispered    remark   made,  to  the  present  writer, 
in  passing,    by   the    Novelist  —  made   by  him   half- 
weariedly,  yet   half-laughingly — "  There  !     If  I  have 
gone  through   that    already   to  myself  once,    I   have 
gone   through  it    two — hundred — times  !  "     It    was 
not  lightly  or  carelessly  therefore,  as  may  now  be  seen, 
that  Charles  Dickens,  in  his  later  capacity — not  pen-in- 
hand,  or  through  green  monthly  numbers,  but  stand 
ing  at  a  reading-desk  upon  a  public  platform — under 
took  the  office  of  a  popular  entertainer. 

Resolved  throughout  his  career  as  a  Reader  to 
acquit  himself  of  those  newly-assumed  responsi 
bilities  to  the  utmost  of  his  powers,  to  the  fullest 
extent  of  his  capabilities,  both  physical  and  intel- 


DOCTOR  MAEIGOLD.  245 

lectual,  lie  applied  his  energies  to  the  task,  with  a 
zeal  that,  it  is  impossible  not  to  recognise  now, 
amounted  in  the  end  to  nothing  less  than  (literally) 
self-sacrifice.  But  for  the  devotion  of  his  energies  thus 
unstintingly  to  the  laborious  task  upon  which  he  had 
adventured — a  task  involving  in  its  accomplishment 
an  enormous  amount  of  rapid  travelling  by  railway, 
keeping  him  for  months  together,  besides,  in  one 
ceaseless  whirl  of  bodily  and  mental  excitement — his 
splendid  constitution,  sustained  and  strengthened  as 
it  was  by  his  wholesome  enjoyment  of  out-of-door 
life,  and  his  habitual  indulgence  in  bathing  and  pedes- 
trianism,  gave  him  every  reasonable  hope  of  reaching 
the  age  of  an  octogenarian. 

Bearing  in  mind  in  addition  to  the  wear-and-tear  of 
the  Headings  in  England  and  America,  the  nervous 
shock  of  that  terrible  railway  accident  at  Staplehurst, 
on  the  9th  of  June,  1865,  the  lamentable  catastrophe 
of  exactly  five  years  afterwards  to  the  very  day,  that 
of  the  9th  of  June,  1870,  becomes  readily  comprehen 
sible.  Because  of  his  absorption  in  his  task,  however, 
all  through,  he  was  unconscious  for  the  most  part  of 
the  wasting  influence  of  his  labours,  or,  if  he  was  so 
at  all  towards  the  close  of  his  career,  he  was  so,  even 
then,  only  fitfully  and  at  the  rarest  intervals.  Pre 
cisely  in  the  same  way,  it  may  be  remarked,  in  regard  to 
those  who  watched  his  whole  course  as  a  Eeader,  that 
so  facile  and  so  pleasureable  to  himself,  as  well  as  to 
them,  appeared  to  be  the  novel  avocation  which  had 


246  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   EEADER. 

come  of  late  years  to  be  alternated  with  his  more 
accustomed  toil  as  an  author,  that  it  rendered  even  the 
most  observant  amongst  them  unconscious  in  their  turn 
of  the  disastrously  exhausting  influence  of  this  unnatural 
blending  together  of  two  professions.  A  remorseful 
sense  of  this  comes  back  upon  us  now,  when  it  is  all 
too  late,  in  our  remembrance  of  that  remark  made  by 
the  Novelist  immediately  after  the  Private  Reading  of 
"  Doctor  Marigold,"  a  remark  then  regarded  as  simply 
curious  and  interesting,  but  now  having  about  it  an 
almost  painful  significance.  Never  was  work  more 
thoroughly  or  more  conscientiously  done,  from  first  to 
last,  than  in  the  instance  of  these  Readings. 

In  the  minute  elaboration  of  the  care  with  which 
they  were  prepared,  in  the  vivacity  with  which  they  were 
one  and  all  of  them  delivered,  in  the  punctuality  with 
which,  whirled  like  a  shuttle  in  a  loom,  to  and  fro, 
hither  and  thither,  through  all  parts  of  the  United  King 
dom  and  of  the  United  States,  the  Reader  kept,  link  by 
link,  an  immensely-lengthened  chain  of  appointments, 
until  the  first  link  was  broken  suddenly  at  Preston — 
one  can  recognise  at  length  the  full  force  of  those 
simple  words  uttered  by  him  upon  the  occasion  of  his 
Farewell  Reading,  where  he  spoke  of  himself  as  "  a 
faithful  servant  of  the  public,  always  imbued  with  a 
sense  of  duty  to  them,  and  always  striving  to  do  his 
best."  Among  the  many  radiant  illustrations  that 
have  been  preserved  of  how  thoroughly  he  did  his 
best,  not  the  least  brilliant  in  its  way  was  this 


DOCTOR   MARIGOLD.  24-7 

eminently  characteristic  Reading    of    "  Doctor  Mari- 
gold." 

All  through  it,  from  the  very  beginning  down  to  the 
very  end  of  his  Confidences,  the  Cheap  Jack,  in  his 
belcher  neckcloth  and  his  sleeved-waistcoat  with  the 
mother-o'-pearl  buttons,  was  there  talking  to  us,  as 
only  he  could  talk  to  us,  from  the  foot-board  of  his 
cart.  He  remained  thus  before  us  from  his  first 
mention  of  his  own  father  having  always  consistently 
called  himself  Willum  to  the  moment  when  little 
Sophy — the  third  little  Sophy — comes  clambering 
up  the  steps,  and  reveals  that  she  at  least  is  not  deaf 
and  dumb  by  crying  out  to  him,  "  Grandfather !  "  As 
for  the  patter  of  Doctor  Marigold,  it  is  among  the 
humorous  revelations  of  imaginative  literature.  Hear 
him  when  he  is  perhaps  the  best  worth  listening  to, 
when  he  is  in  his  true  rostrum,  when  his  bluchers 
are  on  his  native  foot-board,  and  his  name  is,  more  in 
tensely  than  ever,  Doctor  Marigold  !  Don't  we  all  re 
member  him  there,  for  example,  on  a  Saturday  night  in 
the  market-place — "Here's  a  pair  of  razors  that'll  shave 
you  closer  than  the  board  of  guardians;  here's  a  flat-iron 
worth  its  weight  in  gold ;  here's  a  frying-pan  artifici 
ally  flavoured  with  essence  of  beefsteaks  to  that  degree 
that  you've  only  got  for  the  rest  of  your  lives  to  fry  bread 
and  dripping  in  it  and  there  you  are  replete  with  animal 
food ;  here's  a  genuine  chronometer-watch,  in  such  a 
solid  silver  case  that  you  may  knock  at  the  door  with 
it  when  you  come  home  late  from  a  social  meeting,  and 


248  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

rouse  your  wife  and  family  and  save  up  your  knocker 
for  the  postman;  and  here's  half  a  dozen  dinner-plates 
that  you  may  play  the  cymbals  with  to  charm  the 
bahy  when  it's  fractious.  Stop  !  I'll  throw  you  in 
another  article,  and  I'll  give  you  that,  and  it's  a  rolling- 
pin  ;  and  if  the  baby  can  only  get  it  well  into  it's 
mouth  when  its  teeth  is  coming,  and  rub  the  gums 
once  with  it,  they'll  come  through  double  in  a  fit  of 
laughter  equal  to  being  tickled."  And  so  on,  ringing 
the  changes  on  a  thousand  wonderful  conceits  and 
whimsicalities  that  come  tumbling  out  one  after 
another  in  inexhaustible  sequence  and  with  uninter 
rupted  volubility. 

The  very  Prince  of  Cheap  Jacks,  surely,  is  this 
Doctor  Marigold !  And,  more  than  that,  one  who  makes 
good  his  claim  to  the  title  of  wit,  humorist,  satirist, 
philanthropist,  and  philosopher. 

As  for  his  philosophic  contentment,  what  can  equal 
that  as  implied  in  his  summing  up  of  his  own  humble 
surroundings  ?  "A  roomy  cart,  with  the  large  goods 
hung  outside,  and  the  bed  slung  underneath  it  when 
on  the  road  ;  an  iron-pot  and  a  kettle,  a  fireplace  for 
the  cold  weather,  a  chimney  for  the  smoke,  a  hanging- 
shelf  and  a  cupboard,  a  dog  and  a  horse.  What  more 
do  you  want  ?  You  draw  off  on  a  bit  of  turf  in  a 
green  lane  or  by  the  roadside,  you  hobble  your  old 
horse  and  turn  him  grazing,  you  light  your  fire  upon 
the  ashes  of  the  last  visitors,  you  cook  your  stew,  and 
you  wouldn't  call  the  Emperor  of  France  your  father." 


DOCTOR   MARIGOLD.  249 

As  for  his  wit,  hear  him  describe — What  ?  "  Why, 
I'll  tell  you  !  It's  made  of  fine  gold,  and  it's  not 
broke,  though  there's  a  hole  in  the  middle  of  it,  and 
it's  stronger  than  any  fetter  that  was  ever  forged. 
What  else  is  it  ?  I'll  tell  you.  It's  a  hoop  of  solid 
gold  wrapped  in  a  silver  curl-paper  that  I  myself  took 
off  the  shining  locks  of  the  ever-beautiful  old  lady  in 
Threadneedle  Street,  London  city.  I  wouldn't  tell 
you  so,  if  I  hadn't  the  paper  to  show,  or  you  mightn't 
believe  it  even  of  me.  Now,  what  else  is  it  ?  It's  a 
man-trap,  and  a  hand-cuff,  the  parish  stocks  and  a  leg- 
lock,  all  in  gold  and  all  in  one.  Now,  what  else  is  it? 
It's  a  wedding-ring  !  " 

As  for  something  far  better  than  any  mere  taste  of  his 
skill  as  a  satirist,  see  the  whole  of  his  delectable  take  off 
— in  contradistinction  to  himself,  the  itinerant  Cheap 
Jack — of  the  political  Dear  Jack  in  the  public  market 
place. 

As  for  his  philanthropy,  it  is  unobtrusively  pro 
claimed  by  the  drift  of  his  whole  narrative,  and 
especially  by  two  or  three  among  the  more  remarkable 
of  its  closing  incidents. 

As  for  his  powers  as  a  humorist,  they  may  be  found 
there  passim,  being  scattered  broadcast  all  through 
his  autobiographic  recollections. 

To  those  recollections  are  we  not  indebted  for  a  whole 
gallery  of  inimitable  delineations  ?  The  Cheap  Jack's 
very  dog,  for  instance,  who  had  taught  himself  out  of  his 
own  head  to  growl  at  any  person  in  the  crowd  that  bid 


250  CHARLES   DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

as  low  as  sixpence  !  Or  Pickleson  the  giant,  with  a 
little  head  and  less  in  it.  Of  whom,  observes  Doctor 
Marigold,  "  He  was  a  languid  young  man,  which  I 
attribute  to  the  distance  betwixt  his  extremities." 
About  whom,  when  a  sixpence  is  given  to  him  by 
Doctor  Marigold,  the  latter  remarks  in  a  preposterous 
parenthesis,  "  (for  he  was  kept  as  short  as  he  was 
long  !)  "  As  for  Dickens's  high  falsetto,  when  speak 
ing  in  the  person  of  this  same  Pickleson,  with  a 
voice  that,  as  Doctor  Marigold  says,  seemed  to  come 
from  his  eyebrows,  it  was  only  just  a  shade  more 
excruciatingly  ridiculous  than  his  guttural  and  growl 
ing  objurgations  in  the  character  of  the  giant's  pro 
prietor,  the  fe-rocious  Mini. 

With  all  his  modest  appetite  for  the  simpler  plea 
sures  of  existence,  Doctor  Marigold  betrays  in  one 
instance,  by  the  way,  the  taste  of  a  gourmet.  "  I  knocked 
up  a  beefsteak-pudding  for  one,"  he  says,  "  with  two 
kidneys,  a  dozen  oysters,  and  a  couple  of  mushrooms 
thrown  in : "  adding,  with  a  fine  touch  of  nature 
drawn  from  experience,  "It's  a  pudding  to  put  a  man 
in  good  humour  with  everything,  except  the  two 
bottom  buttons  of  his  waistcoat." 

Incomparably  the  finest  portion  of  all  this  wonder 
fully  original  sketch  of  Doctor  Marigold,  both  in  the 
Writing  and  in  the  Beading,  was  that  in  which  the  poor 
Cheap  Jack  is  represented  as  going  through  his  cus 
tomary  patter  on  the  foot-board  with  his  poor  little 
Sophy — the  first  of  the  three  Sophies,  his  own  by 


DOCTOR   MARIGOLD.  251 

birth,  and  not  simply  by  adoption — the  while  she  is 
slowly  dying  on  his  shoulder.  Thackeray  was  right 
when  he  said  of  the  humour  of  Dickens,  "It  is  a 
mixture  of  love  and  wit."  Laughter  and  tears,  with 
him,  lay  very  near — speaking  of  him  as  an  author,  we 
may  say  by  preference — lie  very  near  indeed  together. 
It  is  in  those  passages  in  which  they  come  in  astonish 
ingly  rapid  alternation,  and  at  moments  almost  simul 
taneously,  that  he  is  invariably  at  his  very  best.  The 
incident  here  aUuded  to  is  one  of  these  more  exquisite 
descriptions,  and  it  was  one,  that,  by  voice  and  look 
and  manner,  he  himself  most  exquisitely  delineated. 
When  the  poor  Cheap  Jack,  with  Sophy  holding  round 
his  neck,  steps  out  from  the  shelter  of  the  cart  upon 
the  foot-board,  and  the  waiting  crowd  all  set  up  a 
laugh  on  seeing  them — "  one  chuckle-headed  Joskin 
(that  I  hated  for  it)  making  a  bid  '  tuppence  for 
her!'" — Doctor  Marigold  begins  his  tragi-comic 
allocution.  It  is  sown  thickly  all  through  with  the 
most  whimsical  of  his  conceits,  but  it  is  interrupted 
also  here  and  there  with  infinitely  pathetic  touches  of 
tenderness. 

Fragmentary  illustrations  of  either  would  but  dimly 
shadow  forth,  instead  of  clearly  elucidating,  what  is  here 
meant  in  the  recollection  of  those  who  can  still  recall  this 
Reading  of  " Doctor  Marigold"  to  their  remembrance. 
Those  who  never  heard  it  as  it  actually  fell  from  the 
Author's  lips,  by  turning  to  the  original  sketch,  and 
running  through  that  particular  portion  of  it  to  them- 


252  CHAKLES   DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

selves,  may  more  readily  conjecture  than  by  the  aid  of 
mere  piecemeal  quotation,  all  that  the  writer  of  those 
riant  and  tearful  pages  would  be  capable  of  accom 
plishing  by  its  utterance,  bringing  to  its  delivery,  as  he 
could,  so  many  of  the  rarer  gifts  of  genius,  and  so 
many  also  of  the  rarest  accomplishments  of  art. 


SIKES  AND  NANCY. 


ON  Saturday,  the  14th  of  November,  1868,  there 
were  assembled  together  in  front  of  the  great  plat 
form  in  St.  James's  Hall,  Piccadilly,  as  fit  audience, 
but  few,  somewhere  about  fifty  of  the  critics,  artists, 
and  literary  men  of  London.  A  card  of  invitation, 
stamped  with  a  facsimile  of  the  well-known  autograph 
of  Charles  Dickens,  and  countersigned  by  the  Messrs. 
Chappell  and  Company,  had,  with  a  witty  significance, 
bidden  them  to  that  rendezvous  for  a  "  Private  Trial 
of  the  Murder  in  Oliver  Twist."  The  occasion,  in 
point  of  fact,  was  a  sort  of  experimental  rehearsal  of 
the  last  and  most  daring  of  all  these  vividly  dramatic 
Headings  by  the  popular  Novelist. 

Conscious  himself  that  there  was  a  certain  amount  of 
audacity  in  his  adventuring  thus  upon  a  delineation  so 
really  startling  in  its  character,  he  was  not  unnaturally 
desirous  of  testing  its  fitness  for  representation  before 
the  public,  first  of  all  in  the  presence  of  those  who 
were  probably  the  best  qualified  to  pronounce  a  per 
fectly  dispassionate  opinion.  It  certainly  appeared 


254  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS    A   READER. 

somewhat  dubious  at  the  first,  that  question  as  to  the 
suitability  for  portrayal  before  mixed  assemblages,  of 
one  of  the  most  powerfully  tragic  incidents  ever  de 
picted  by  him  in  the  whole  range  of  his  voluminous 
contributions  to  imaginative  literature.  The  passages 
selected  to  this  end  from  his  famous  story  of 
Oliver  Twist  were  those  relating  more  particularly 
to  the  Murder  of  Nancy  by  Bill  Sikes.  A  ghastlier 
atrocity  than  that  murder  could  hardly  be  imagined. 
In  the  book  itself,  as  will  be  remembered,  the 
crime  is  painted  as  with  a  brush  dipped  in  blood 
rather  than  pigment.  The  infamous  deed  is  there 
described  in  language  worthy  of  one  of  the  greatest 
realists  in  fictitious  narrative.  Henri  de  Balzac,  even 
in  his  more  sanguinary  imaginings,  never  showed  a 
completer  mastery  of  the  horrible. 

Eemembering  all  this,  and  feeling  perfectly  assured 
at  the  same  time,  that  the  scene  then  about  to  be 
depicted  by  the  Author  in  person,  would  most  certainly 
lose  nothing  of  its  terror  in  the  representation,  the 
acknowledgment  may  here  be  made  by  the  writer 
of  these  pages,  that,  on  entering  the  Hall  that  evening, 
he  was  in  considerable  doubt  as  to  what  might 
be  the  result  of  the  experiment.  Compared  with 
the  size  of  the  enormous  building,  the  group  of 
those  assembled  appeared  to  be  the  merest  handful  of 
an  audience  clustered  together  towards  the  front 
immediately  below  the  platform  of  the  orchestra. 
Standing  at  the  back  of  this  group,  the  writer  recalls 


SIKES   AND   NANCY.  255 

to  mind,  in  regard  to  that  evening,  a  circumstance 
plainly  enough  indicating  how  fully  his  own  unex 
pressed  uncertainty  was  akin  to  that  of  the  Author- 
Reader  himself.  The  circumstance,  namely,  that 
Charles  Dickens,  immediately  on  entering  the  hall, 
before  taking  his  place  at  his  reading-desk  upon  the 
platform,  came  round,  and  after  exchanging  a  few 
words  with  him,  uttered  this  earnest  Aside, — "  I 
want  you  to  watch  this  particularly,  for  I  am  very1 
doubtful  about  it  myself !"  Before  that  Experimental 
Beading  was  half  over,  however,  all  doubt  upon  the  mat 
ter  was  utterly  dissipated.  In  the  powerful  eifect  of  it, 
the  murder-scene  immeasurably  surpassed  anything  he 
had  ever  achieved  before  as  an  impersonator  of  his 
own  creations.  In  its  climax,  it  was  as  splendid  a  piece 
of  tragic  acting  as  had  for  many  years  been  witnessed. 

What,  in  effect,  was  Macready's  comment  upon  it 
some  months  afterwards,  when,  with  an  especial  eye  to 
the  great  tragedian's  opinion,  "  Sikes  and  Nancy  "was 
given  at  Cheltenham  ?  It  was  laconic  enough,  but  it 
afforded  a  world  of  pleasure  to  the  Author- Actor  when 
his  old  friend — himself  the  hero  of  so  many  tragic 
triumphs — summed  up  his  estimate,  by  saying,  cha 
racteristically,  "  Two  Macbeths  !" 

Four  of  the  imaginary  beings  of  the  novel  were 
introduced,  or,  it  should  rather  be  said,  were  severally 
produced  before  us  as  actual  embodiments.  Occa 
sionally,  during  one  of  the  earlier  scenes,  it  is  true 
that  the  gentle  voice  of  Eose  Maylie  was  audible, 


256  CHARLES    DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

while  a  few  impressive  words  were  spoken  there  also 
at  intervals  by  Mr.  Brownlow.  But,  otherwise,  the 
interlocutors  were  four,  and  four  only :  to  wit — Nancy, 
Bill  Sikes,  Morris  Bolter,  otherwise  Noah  Claypole, 
and  the  Jew  Fagin.  Than  those  same  characters  no 
four  perhaps  in  the  whole  range  of  fiction  could  be 
more  widely  contrasted.  Yet,  widely  contrasted, 
utterly  dissimilar,  though  they  are,  in  themselves,  the 
extraordinary  histrionic  powers  of  their  creator,  enabled 
him  to  present  them  to  view,  with  a  rapidity  of 
sequence  or  alternation,  so  astonishing  in  its  mingled 
facility  and  precision,  that  the  characters  themselves 
seemed  not  only  to  be  before  us  in  the  flesh,  but 
sometimes  one  might  almost  have  said  were  there 
simultaneously.  Each  in  turn  as  portrayed  by  him — 
meaning  portrayed  by  him  not  simply  in  the  book 
but  by  himself  in  person — was  in  its  way  a  finished 
masterpiece. 

Looking  at  the  Author  as  he  himself  embodied  these 
creations — Fagin,  the  Jew,  was  there  completely, 
audibly,  visibly  before  us,  by  a  sort  of  transformation ! 
Here,  in  effect — as  several  years  previously  in  the 
midst  of  his  impersonation  of  Wilmot  in  Lord  Lytton's 
comedy  of  Not  so  Bad  as  we  Seem,  namely,  where, 
in  the  garret,  the  young  patrician  affects  for  a  while 
to  be  Edmund  Curll  the  bookseller — the  imper 
sonator's  very  stature,  each  time  Fagin  opened  his 
lips,  seemed  to  be  changed  instantaneously.  When 
ever  he  spoke,  there  started  before  us — high-shoul- 


SIKES   AND    NANCY.  257 

dered,  with  contracted  chest,  with  birdlike  claws, 
eagerly  anticipating  by  their  every  movement  the  pas 
sionate  words  fiercely  struggling  for  utterance  at  his 
lips — that  most  villainous  old  tutor  of  young  thieves, 
receiver  of  stolen  goods,  and  very  devil  incarnate :  his 
features  distorted  with  rage,  his  penthouse  eyebrows 
(those  wonderful  eyebrows ! )  working  like  the  an- 
tennre  of  some  deadly  reptile,  his  whole  aspect,  half- 
vulpine,  half- vulture -like,  in  its  hungry  wickedness. 

Whenever  lie  spoke,  again,  Morris  Bolter — quite 
as  instantly,  just  as  visibly  and  as  audibly — was  there 
upon  the  platform.  Listening  to  him,  though  we 
were  all  of  us  perfectly  conscious  of  doing,  through 
the  Protean  voice,  and  looking  at  him  through  the 
variable  features  of  the  Novelist,  we  somehow  saw, 
no  longer  the  Novelist,  but — each  time  Noah  Clay- 
pole  said  a  word — that  chuckle-headed,  long-limbed, 
clownish,  sneaking  varlet,  who  is  the  spy  on  Nancy, 
the  tool  of  Fagin,  and  the  secret  evil-genius  of  Sikes, 
hounding  the  latter  on,  as  he  does,  unwittingly,  to  the 
dreadful  deed  of  homicide. 

As  for  the  Author's  embodiment  of  Sikes — the 
burly  ruffian  with  thews  of  iron  and  voice  of  Stentor — 
it  was  only  necessary  to  hear  that  infuriated  voice, 
and  watch  the  appalling  blows  dealt  by  his  ima 
ginary  bludgeon  in  the  perpetration  of  the  crime,  to 
realise  the  force,  the  power,  the  passion,  informing 
the  creative  mind  of  the  Novelist  at  once  in  the 
original  conception  of  the  character,  and  then,  so 


"58  CHARLES    DICKENS    AS    A    READER. 

many  years  afterwards,  in  its  equally  astonishing 
representation. 

It  was  in  the  portrayal  of  Nancy,  however,  that  the 
genius  of  the  Author-Actor  found  the  opportunity, 
beyond  all  others,  for  its  most  signal  manifesta 
tion.  Only  that  the  catastrophe  was  in  itself,  by 
necessity  so  utterly  revolting,  there  would  have  been 
something  exquisitely  pathetic  in  many  parts  of  that 
affecting  delineation.  The  character  was  revealed 
with  perfect  consistency  throughout — from  the  scene 
of  suppressed  emotion  upon  the  steps  of  London 
Bridge,  when  she  is  scared  with  the  eltrich  horror  of 
her  forebodings,  down  to  her  last  gasping,  shrieking 
apostrophes,  to  "'Bill,  dear  Bill,"  when  she  sinks, 
blinded  by  blood,  under  the  murderous  blows  dealt 
upon  her  upturned  face  by  her  brutal  paramour. 

Then,  again,  the  horror  experienced  by  the  assassin 
afterwards  !  So  far  as  it  went,  it  was  as  grand  a  repre 
hension  of  all  murderers  as  hand  could  well  have 
penned  or  tongue  have  uttered.  It  had  about  it  some 
thing  of  the  articulation  of  an  avenging  voice  not 
against  Sikes  only,  but  against  all  who  ever  outraged, 
or  ever  dreamt  of  outraging,  the  sanctity  of  human 
life.  And  it  was  precisely  this  which  tended  to  sub 
limate  an  incident  otherwise  of  the  ghastliest  horror 
into  a  homily  of  burning  eloquence,  the  recollection 
of  which  among  those  who  once  saw  it  revealed 
through  the  lips,  the  eyes,  the  whole  aspect  of  Charles 
Dickens  will  not  easily  be  obliterated.  The  moral 


SIKES   AND    NANCY.  259 

drawn  from  it — and  there  was  this  moral  interpene 
trating  or  impregnating  the  whole — became  appreci 
able,  it  might  even  have  been  by  Sikes  himself,  from 
the  first  moment  the  ruffian  realised  that  the  crime 
had  been  actually  accomplished.  It  spoke  trumpet- 
tongued  from  the  very  instant  when  he  recoiled  from 
"it!"  Nancy  no  more,  but  thenceforth  flesh  and 
blood — "  But  such  flesh,  and  so  much  blood  ! "  Never 
theless,  in  that  Experimental  Heading  of  the  14th  of 
November,  1868,  the  effect  of  all  this  appeared,  in  the 
estimation  of  the  present  writer,  to  have  been  in  a 
great  measure  marred  by  the  abruptness  with  which, 
almost  the  instant  after  the  crime  had  been  com 
mitted,  the  Beading  was  terminated.  Sikes  burnt 
upon  the  hearth  the  blood-stained  weapon  with  which 
the  murder  had  been  perpetrated — was  startled  for  a 
moment  by  the  hair  upon  the  end  of  the  club  shrinking 
to  a  light  cinder  and  whirling  up  the  chimney — and 
then,  dragging  the  dog  (whose  very  feet  were  bloody) 
after  him,  and  locking  the  door,  left  the  house. 
There,  the  Experimental  Reading  abruptly  terminated. 
It  seemed  not  only  insufficient,  but  a  lost  oppor 
tunity.  Insomuch,  that  the  writer,  on  the  following 
day,  remonstrated  with  the  Novelist  as  earnestly  as 
possible,  urging  him  to  append  to  the  Reading  as  it 
then  stood  some  fragmentary  portion,  at  least,  of  the 
chapter  descriptive  of  the  flight,  so  that  the  remorseful 
horror  of  Sikes  might  be  more  fully  realised.  Of  the 
reasonableness  of  this  objection,  however,  Dickens 

8   2 


260  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS  A   HEADER. 

himself  was  so  wholly  unconvinced,  that,  in  the  midst 
of  his  arguments  against  it,  he  wrote,  in  a  tone  of 
good-humoured  indignation,  "My  dear  fellow,  helieve 
me  that  no  audience  on  earth  could  he  held  for  ten 
minutes  after  the  girl's  death.  Give  them  time,  and 
they  would  be  revengeful  for  having  had  such  a  strain 
put  upon  them.  Trust  me  to  he  right.  I  stand 
there,  and  I  know."  Than  this  nothing  could  very 
well  have  been  more  strongly  expressed,  as  indicative 
of  the  conclusion  at  which  he  had  deliberately  arrived. 

So  frankly  open  to  conviction  was  he,  nevertheless, 
that,  not  disdaining  to  defer  to  the  judgment  of  another 
when  his  own  had  been  convinced,  the  Reading  was 
eventually,  after  all,  lengthened  out  by  a  veiy  remark 
able  addition.  The  printed  copy  of  this  fragment  of 
Oliver  Twist,  artistically  compacted  together  as  "A 
Heading,"  has,  appended  to  it,  in  blue  ink,  three 
pages  of  manuscript  in  the  Novelist's  familiar  hand 
writing,  in  which,  with  a  cunning  mastery  of  all 
the  powers  of  condensation,  he  has  compacted  together 
in  a  few  sentences  what  he  always  gave  with  wonderful 
effect  before  the  public,  the  salient  incidents  of  the 
murderer's  flight,  ending  with  his  own  destruction, 
and  even  his  dog's,  from  the  housetop. 

Nothing  that  could  most  powerfully  realise  to  the 
audience  the  ruffian's  sense  of  horror  and  abhorrence 
has  been  there  overlooked.  The  ghastly  figure  follows 
him  everywhere.  He  hears  its  garments  rustling  in 
the  leaves.  "  If  he  stopped,  it  stopped.  If  he  ran,  it 


SIKES   AND    NANCY.  2G1 

followed."  Turning  at  times  to  beat  the  phantom  off, 
though  it  should  strike  him  dead,  the  hair  rises  on  his 
head,  and  his  blood  stands  still,  for  it  has  turned  with 
him  and  is  behind  him  !  Throwing  himself  on  his 
back  upon  the  road — "At  his  head  it  stood,  silent, 
erect,  and  still :  a  human  gravestone  with  its  epitaph 
in  Blood." 

What  is  as  striking  as  anything  in  all  this  Heading, 
however — that  is,  in  the  Beading  copy  of  it  now  lying 
before  us  as  we  write — is  the  mass  of  hints  as  to  by 
play  in  the  stage  directions  for  himself,  so  to  speak, 
scattered  up  and  down  the  margin.  "Fagiii  raised 
his  right  hand,  and  shook  his  trembling  forefinger  in 
the  air,"  is  there,  on  p.  101,  in  print.  Beside  it,  on 
the  margin  in  MS.,  is  the  word  "Action."  Not  a 
word  of  it  was  said.  It  was  simply  done.  Again, 
immediately  below  that  on  the  same  page  —  Sikes' 
loquitur — "'Oh!  you  haven't,  haven't  you?'  passing 
a  pistol  into  a  more  convenient  pocket  ['  Action,' 
again,  in  MS.  on  the  margin.]  *  That's  lucky  for  one 
of  us — which  one  that  is  don't  matter.' '  Not  a  word 
\vas  said  about  the  pistol — the  marginal  direction  was 
simply  attended  to.  On  the  opposite  page,  in  print, 
"  Fagin  laid  his  hand  upon  the  bundle,  and  locked  it 
in  the  cupboard.  But  he  did  not  take  his  eyes  off 
the  robber  for  an  instant."  On  the  margin  in  MS., 
oddly  but  significantly  underlined,  are  the  words, 
*'  Cupboard  Action."  So  again  afterwards,  as  a 
rousing  self- direction,  one  sees  notified  in  maim- 


262  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

script,  on  p.  107,  the  grim  stage  direction,  "  Murder 
Coming." 

As  certainly  as  the  "  Trial  from  Pickwick"  was  the 
most  laughter-moving  of  all  the  Readings,  and  as  the 
"  Story  of  Little  Dombey,"  again,  was  the  most  pathetic, 
"  Sikes  and  Nancy "  was  in  all  respects  the  most 
powerfully  dramatic  and,  in  the  grand  tragic  force  of 
it,  in  many  ways,  the  most  impressive  and  remarkable. 


THE  FAREWELL  READING. 


IN  recording  the  incident  of  his  Farewell  Reading, 
there  comes  back  to  us  a  yet  later  recollection  of  the 
great  Novelist;  and  illustrating,  as  it  does,  his  pas 
sionate  love  for  the  dramatic  art,  it  may  here  be 
mentioned  not  inappropriately. 

It  relates  simply  to  a  remark  suddenly  made  by  him 
— and  which  had  been  suggested,  so  far  as  we  can 
remember,  by  nothing  we  had  been  talking  about  pre 
viously — towards  the  close  of  our  very  last  suburban 
walk  together.  Going  round  by  way  of  Lambeth  one 
afternoon  in  the  early  summer  of  1870,  we  had  skirted 
the  Thames  along  the  Surrey  bank,  had  crossed  the 
river  higher  up,  and  on  our  way  back  were  returning 
at  our  leisure  through  Westminster ;  when,  just  as 
we  were  approaching  the  shadow  of  the  old  Abbey  at 
Poet's  Corner,  under  the  roof-beams  of  which  he  was 
so  soon  to  be  laid  in  his  grave,  with  a  rain  of  tears  and 
flowers,  he  abruptly  asked — 

"  What  do  you  think  would  be  the  realisation  of  one 


264  CHARLES   DICKENS    AS   A    READER. 

of  my  most  cherished  day-dreams  ?  "  Adding,  instantly, 
without  waiting  for  any  answer,  "  To  settle  down  now 
for  the  remainder  of  my  life  within  easy  distance  of  a 
great  theatre,  in  the  direction  of  which  I  should  hold 
supreme  authority.  It  should  be  a  house,  of  course, 
having  a  skilled  and  noble  company,  and  one  in  every 
way  magnificently  appointed.  The  pieces  acted  should 
be  dealt  with  according  to  my  pleasure,  and  touched 
up  here  and  there  in  obedience  to  my  own  judgment ; 
the  players  as  well  as  the  plays  being  absolutely 
under  my  command.  There,"  said  he,  laughingly, 
and  in  a  glow  at  the  mere  fancy,  "  that's  my  day 
dream  !  " 

Dickens's  delighted  enjoyment,  in  fact,  of  everything 
in  any  way  connected  with  the  theatrical  profession, 
was  second  only  to  that  shown  by  him  in  the  indul 
gence  of  the  master-passion  of  his  life,  his  love  of 
literature. 

The  way  in  which  he  threw  himself  into  his 
labours,  as  a  Reader,  was  only  another  indication 
of  his  intense  affection  for  the  dramatic  art.  For,  as 
we  have  already  insisted,  the  Readings  were  more  than 
simply  Readings,  they  were  in  the  fullest  meaning  of 
the  words  singularly  ingenious  and  highly  elaborated 
histrionic  performances.  And  his  sustained  success 
in  them  during  fifteen  years  altogether,  and,  as  we 
have  seen,  through  as  many  as  five  hundred  repre 
sentations,  may  be  accounted  for  in  the  same  way  as 
his  still  more  prolonged  success,  from  the  beginning 


THE   FAREWELL   READING.  265 

of  his^career  as  a  Novelist  down  to  its  very  close, 
from  the  Pickwick  Papers  to  Edwin  Drood,  other 
wise,  during  an  interval  of  four-and-thirty  consecu 
tive  years,  as  the  most  popular  author  of  his  gene 
ration. 

The  secret  of  his  original  success,  and  of  the  long 
sustainment  of  it  in  each  of  these  two  careers — as 
Writer  and  as  Reader — is  in  a  great  measure  discover 
able  in  this,  that  whatever  powers  he  possessed  he 
applied  to  their  very  uttermost.  Whether  as  Author 
or  as  Impersonator,  he  gave  himself  up  to  his  ap 
pointed  task,  not  partially  or  intermittingly,  but  tho 
roughly  and  indefatigably. 

His  rule  in  life,  in  this  way,  he  has  himself 
clearry  explained  in  the  forty  -  second  chapter  of 
David  Copperfield.  What  he  there  says  about 
David's  industry  and  perseverance,  applies  as  di 
rectly  to  himself,  as  what  he  also  relates  in  regard 
to  his  young  hero's  earlier  toils  as  a  parliamentary 
reporter,  and  his  precocious  fame  as  a  writer  of  fiction. 
Speaking  at  once  for  David  and  for  himself,  he  there 
writes  for  both  or  for  either,  "  Whatever  I  have  tried 
to  do  in  life,  I  have  tried  with  all  my  heart  to  do 
well ;  whatever  I  have  devoted  myself  to,  I  have 
devoted  myself  to  completely;  in  great  aims  and  in 
small  I  have  always  been  thoroughly  in  earnest.  I 
have  never  believed  it  possible  that  any  natural  or 
improved  ability  can  claim  immunity  from  the  com 
panionship  of  the  steady,  plain,  hard-working  qualities, 


266  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A   READER. 

and  hope  to  gain  its  end.  There  is  no  substitute 
for  thorough-going,  ardent,  and  sincere  earnestness. 
Never  to  put  one  hand  to  anything  on  which  I  could 
throw  my  whole  self;  and  never  to  affect  depreciation 
of  my  work,  whatever  it  was,  I  find  now  to  have  heen 
my  golden  rules."  What  is  there  said  applies  far 
more  recognisably  to  the  real  Charles  Dickens  than 
to  the  imaginary  David  Copperfield. 

Attestations  of  the  truth  of  this  were  discoverable,  at 
every  turn,  in  regard  to  his  regular  system,  his  constant 
method,  nay,  his  minutest  tricks  of  habit,  so  to  speak, 
both  as  Reader  and  as  Novelist.  It  was  so  when  as 
an  Author,  for  example,  note  was  taken,  now  of  his 
careful  forecast  of  a  serial  tale  on  as  many  slips  as 
there  were  to  be  green  monthly  numbers ;  now  of  his 
elaborately  corrected  and  recorrected  manuscripts  ; 
now  of  the  proof-sheets  lying  about,  for  revision  at 
any  and  every  spare  moment,  during  the  month  imme 
diately  before  publication.  Or,  when,  on  the  other 
hand,  in  his  capacity  as  a  Reader,  regard  was  had  to  the 
scrupulous  exactitude  with  which  the  seemingly  trivial 
minutiae  of  what  one  might  call  the  mere  accompani 
ments,  were  systematically  cared  for  or  methodised. 
Announced  to  read,  for  instance,  for  the  first  time  in 
some  town  he  had  never  before  visited  for  that  pur 
pose,  or  in  some  building  in  which  his  voice  had  never 
before  been  raised,  he  would  go  down  to  the  empty 
hall  long  before  the  hour  appointed  for  the  Reading, 
to  take  the  bearings,  as  he  would  say,  or,  in  other 


THE    FAREWELL   READING.  267 

words,  to  familiarise  himself  with  the  place  before 
hand.  His  interest  in  his  audience,  again,  was  some 
thing  delightful.  He  was  hardly  less  keenly  observant 
of  them  than  they  of  him.  Through  a  hole  in  the 
curtain  at  the  side,  or  through  a  chink  in  the  screen 
upon  the  platform,  he  would  eagerly  direct  your  atten 
tion  to  what  never  palled  upon  his  own,  namely,  the 
effect  of  the  suddenly  brightened  sea  of  faces  on  the 
turning  up  of  the  gas,  immediately  before  the  moment 
of  his  own  appearance  at  the  reading-desk. 

The  evening  at  length  came  for  his  very  last  appear 
ance  at  that  familiar  little  reading-desk,  on  Tuesday, 
the  15th  of  March,  1870,  on  the  platform  of  the  St. 
James's  Hall,  Piccadilly.  The  largest  audience  ever 
assembled  in  that  immense  building,  the  largest,  as 
already  intimated,  that  ever  can  be  assembled  there 
for  purely  Reading  purposes,  namely,  when  the  or 
chestra  and  the  upper  end  of  the  two  side-galleries 
have  necessarily  to  be  barred  or  curtained  off  from 
the  auditorium,  were  collected  together  there  under 
the  radiant  pendants  of  the  glittering  ceiling,  every 
available  nook  and  corner,  and  all  the  ordinary  gang 
ways  of  the  Great  Hall  being  completely  occupied. 
The  money  value  of  the  house  that  night  was  £422. 
Crowds  were  unable  to  obtain  admittance  at  the 
entrances  in  the  Quadrant  and  in  Piccadilly,  long 
before  the  hour  fixed  for  the  Farewell  Beading.  Inside 
the  building  2034  persons  were  seated  there,  eagerly 


268  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS    A    READER. 

awaiting  the  Novelist's  appearance.  The  enthusiasm 
of  his  reception  when  eight  o'clock  came,  and  he 
advanced  to  the  centre  of  the  platform,  of  itself  told 
plainly  enough,  as  plainly  as  the  printed  hills  an 
nouncing  the  fact  in  red,  black,  and  yellow,  that  it  was 
his  last  appearance. 

The  Readings  selected  were,  as  the  very  best 
that  could  have  been  chosen,  his  own  favourites 
— "  The  Christmas  Carol,"  and  the  "  Trial  from 
Pickwick."  He  never  read  better  in  his  life  than 
he  did  on  that  last  evening.  Evidently  enough,  he 
was  nerved  to  a  crowning  effort.  And  by  sympathy 
his  audience — his  last  audience — responded  to  him 
throughout  by  their  instant  and  intense  appreciation. 
Not  a  point  was  lost.  Every  good  thing  told  to  the 
echo,  that  is,  through  the  echoing  laughter.  Scrooge, 
Fezziwig,  the  Fiddler,  Topper,  every  one  of  the 
Cratchits,  everybody  in  "  The  Carol,"  including  the 
Small  Boy  who  is  so  great  at  repartee,  all  were  wel 
comed  in  turn,  as  became  them,  with  better  than 
acclamations.  It  was  the  same  exactly  with  the 
"  Trial  from  Pickwick  " — Justice  Stareleigh,  Serjeant 
Buzfuz,  Mr.  Winkle,  Mrs.  Cluppins,  Sam  Weller, 
one  after  another  appearing  for  a  brief  interval,  and 
then  disappearing  for  ever,  each  of  them  a  delightfully 
humorous,  one  of  them  in  particular,  the  Judge,  a 
simply  incomparable  impersonation. 

Then  came   the  moment  of  parting   between   the 


THE    FAREAYELL   READING.  269 

great  Author  and  his  audience — that  last  audience 
who  were  there  as  the  representatives  of  his  immense 
public  in  both  hemispheres.  When  the  resounding 
applause  that  greeted  the  close  of  that  Final  Beading 
had  died  out,  there  was  a  breathless  hush  as  Charles 
Dickens,  who  had  for  once  lingered  there  upon  the 
platform,  addressed  to  his  hearers,  with  exquisitely 
clear  articulation,  but  with  unmistakably  profound 
emotion,  these  few  and  simple  words  of  farewell : — 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen, — It  would  be  worse  than 
"  idle,  for  it  would  be  hypocritical  and  unfeeling,  if  I 
"  were  to  disguise  that  I  close  this  episode  in  my  life 
"  with  feelings  of  very  considerable  pain.  For  some 
' '  fifteen  years  in  this  hall,  and  in  many  kindred  places, 
"  I  have  had  the  honour  of  presenting  my  own  che- 
"  risked  ideas  before  you  for  your  recognition,  and  in 
"  closely  observing  your  reception  of  them  have  en- 
"  joyed  an  amount  of  artistic  delight  and  instruction, 
"  which  perhaps  it  is  given  to  few  men  to  know.  In 
"  this  task  and  in  every  other  I  have  ever  undertaken 
"as  a  faithful  servant  of  the  public,  always  imbued 
"  with  the  sense  of  duty  to  them,  and  always  striving 
"to  do  his  best,  I  have  been  uniformly  cheered  by  the 
"  readiest  response,  the  most  generous  sympathy,  and 
"  the  most  stimulating  support.  Nevertheless,  I  have 
"  thought  it  well,  at  the  full  flood-tide  of  your  favour, 
"  to  retire  upon  those  older  associations  between  us, 
"  which  date  from  much  further  back  than  these,  and 


270  CHARLES   DICKENS   AS   A    READER. 

"  thenceforth  to  devote  myself  exclusively  to  the  art 
"  that  first  brought  us  together.  Ladies  and  gentle- 
"  men,  in  two  short  weeks  from  this  time  I  hope  that 
"  you  may  enter,  in  your  own  homes,  on  a  new  series 
"  of  readings  at  which  nry  assistance  will  be  indispen- 
"  sable ;  but  from  these  garish  lights  I  vanish  now  for 
"  evermore,  with  a  heartfelt,  grateful,  respectful,  and 
"  affectionate  farewell." 

The  manly,  cordial  voice  only  faltered  once  at  the 
very  last.  The  mournful  modulation  of  it  in  the  utter 
ance  of  the  words,  "  From  these  garish  lights  I  vanish 
now  for  evermore,"  lingers  to  this  moment  like  a 
haunting  melody  in  our  remembrance.  Within  a  few 
weeks  afterwards  those  very  words  were  touchingly 
inscribed  on  the  Funeral  Card  distributed  at  the  doors 
of  Westminster  Abbey  on  the  day  of  the  Novelist's 
interment  in  Poet's  Corner.  As  he  moved  from  the 
platform  after  the  utterance  of  the  last  words  of  his 
address  and,  with  his  head  drooping  in  emotion,  passed 
behind  the  screen  on  his  way  to  his  retiring-room,  a 
cordial  hand  was  placed  for  one  moment  with  a  sym 
pathetic  grasp  upon  his  shoulder.  The  popularity 
won  by  Charles  Dickens,  even  among  the  million  who 
never  saw  him  or  spoke  with  him,  amounted  to  nothing 
less  than  personal  affection.  Among  his  friends  and 
intimates  no  great  author  has  ever  been  more  truly  or 
more  tenderly  beloved.  The  prolonged  thunder  of 
applause  that  followed  him  to  his  secluded  room  at 


THE    FAREWELL    READING.  271 

the  back  of  the  platform,  whither  he  had  withdrawn 
alone,  recalled  him  after  the  lapse  of  some  minutes 
for  another  instant  into  the  presence  of  his  last 
audience,  from  whom,  with  a  kiss  of  his  hand,  he  then 
indeed  parted  for  evermore. 


THE   END. 


BRADBCRT,  EVANS,   AND  CO.,    PRINTERS,  WHITEFRIARS. 


GENERAL  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 

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14AU 


t)CT5    197518 


OCT 1 7  1975 

REG.  *  | 

JUL  3  0  2001 


1  6 


LD  21-100m-l,'54(1887sl6)476 


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